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LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES. 


NOW  READY, 

SERMONS 

BY   THE   LATE 

Rev.   FREDERICK   W.   ROBERTSON,  M.A., 

INCUMBENT    OF    TRINITY    CHAPEL,    BRIGHTON. 

FIRST   SERIES,   $1.00. 


SERMONS. 

SECOND    SERIES,   $1.00. 


SERMONS. 

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EACH  VOLUME   SOLD   SEPARATELY. 


BOSTON:    TICKNOR   AND    FIELDS. 


LECTURES    AND   ADDRESSES 


LITEEAKY  AND  SOCIAL  TOPICS. 


BY    THE    LJfcTE 

Rev.  FREDERICK  W.   ROBERTSON,  M.A., 

OF   BRIGHTON. 


BOSTON: 
TICKNOR   AND    FIELDS. 

M  DCCC  IJX. 


RIVERSIDE,     CAMBRIDGE: 
STEREOTYPED    BY    H.    0.    HOUGHTON    AND    COMPANY. 


THURSTON     AND     TORRY,     PRINTERS. 


WORKING  MEN, 

AND     ESPECIALLY     TO     THE 

WORKING     MEN     OF     BRIGHTON, 

THIS    VOLUME, 

CONTAINING    SO   MANY   OP   THEIR   FRIEND'S    UTTERANCES 

IN    THEIR   BEHALF, 

IS  CORDIALLY  DEDICATED. 


1* 


CONTENTS. 


PA  SB 

Preface ix 

Two  Addresses  : — 

An  Address  delivered  at  the  Opening  of  the  Working 
Men's  Institute,  on  Monday,  October  23,  1848 1 

Preface  to  Second  Address 48 

An  Address  delivered  to  the  Members  of  the  Working 
Man's  Institute,  at  the  Town  Hall,  Brighton,  on 
Thursday,  April  18,  1850,  on  the  Question  of  the 
Introduction  of  Skeptical  Publications  into  their 
Library 52 

Two  Lectures  on  the  Influence  of  Poetry  on 
the  Working  Classes  : — 

Delivered  before  the  Members  of  the  Mechanics'  Insti- 
tution, February,  1852. 

Lecture  I 95 

Lecture  II 145 

Lecture  on  Wordsworth: — 

Delivered  to  the  Members  of  the  Brighton  Athenseum, 
February  10,  1853 209 


viii  CONTENTS. 

PAGK 

Notes  of  a  Lecture,  Speeches,  &c. — 

Notes  of  a  Lecture  delivered  at  Hurstper-point,  in  1851, 
to  the  Members  of  a  Working  Man's  Reading  Room  269 

A  Speech  delivered  at  the  Town  Hall,  Brighton,  April 
24,  1849,  at  a  Meeting  of  the  Inhabitants,  called  by 
the  Early  Closing  Association,  presided  over  by  the 
Bishop  of  Chichester 277 

A  Speech  delivered  at  a  Meeting  of  the  Brighton  Dis- 
trict Association  for  Improving  the  Dwellings  of  the 
Industrious  Classes,  held  at  the  Pavilion,  Brighton, 
November  25,  1852 296 

A  Speech  delivered  at  the  Town  Hall,  Brighton,  April 
20,  1852,  in  reply  to  an  Address  presented  to  him  by 
One  Hundred  Young  Men  of  his  Congregation.  . .  .   308 

A  Speech  delivered  at  the  Town  Hall,  Brighton,  No- 
vember 14,  1850,  at  a  Meeting  held  for  the  Purpose 
of  Addressing  the  Queen  in  reference  to  the  Attempt 
of  the  Pope  of  Rome  to  parcel  England  out  into  Ec- 
clesiastical Dioceses  under  Cardinal  Wiseman 312 


PREFACE. 


This  volume  consists  of  Lectures  and  Addresses 
delivered  by  the  late  Rev.  Frederick  W.  Robertson 
before  the  members  of  the  Working  Man's  Insti- 
tute, or  of  the  Athenaeum  at  Brighton,  to  which 
have  been  added  some  Speeches  delivered  on  oc- 
casions of  public  interest. 

It  may  be  fitting,  by  way  of  Preface  to  these 
Addresses,  some  of  which  have  been  published 
before  in  separate  forms,  to  give  a  brief  account 
of  the  circumstances  attending  their  delivery.  A 
few  letters  have  been  added  as  bearing  directly 
on  the  subjects. 

The  first  was  the  opening  address  of  the  Work- 
ing Man's  Institute  at  Brighton,  in  1848.  This 
Institution  mainly  owed  its  origin  to  the  late  Mr. 
Holtham,  who,  having  always  felt  a  warm  interest 
in  the  progress  of  the  working  classes,  elaborated, 
during  a  severe  illnessr  a  plan  of  a  Literary  Insti- 
tute, which  was  to  be  governed  entirely  by  the 


X  PEEFACE. 

working  men.  They  were  to  owe  no  part  of  their 
management  to  the  patronage  or  assistance  of 
their  richer  neighbours,  although  they  were  willing 
that  such  should  contribute  to  the  funds  of  the  In- 
stitution, and  even  become  honorary  members. 

The  Committee  were  very  desirous  that  Mr. 
Robertson  should  open  the  Institute  with  an  Ad- 
dress, and  accordingly  Mr.  Holtham,  the  Presi- 
dent, wrote  to  him  on  the  subject.  In  reply  he 
says : — 

"  I  do  not  think  I  am  at  all  the  man  that  should  be  selected. 
They  should  have  some  one  of  standing  and  influence  in  the 
town,  and  I  am  almost  a  stranger ;  and  my  taking  so  promi- 
nent a  position  might  fairly  be  construed  into  assumption. 
Again,  I  am  much  afraid  that  my  name  might  do  them  harm 
rather  than  good.  They  wish  not  to  be  identified  at  all  with 
party  politics  and  party  religion ;  and  I  fear  that  in  the  minds 
of  very  many  of  the  more  influential  inhabitants  of  the  town, 
my  name  being  made  conspicuous,  would  be  a  suspicious  cir- 
cumstance. It  is  my  conviction  that  an  address  from  me 
would  damage  their  cause.  For  though  the  Institution  is 
intended  to  be  self-supporting,  yet  there  is  no  reason  why  it 
should  wilfully  throw  away  its  chances  of  assistance  from  the 
richer  classes,  and  I  am  quite  sure  that  of  these  very  many, 
whether  reasonably  or  unreasonably,  are  prejudiced  against 
me ;  and  perhaps  the  professedly  religious  portion  of  society 
most  strongly  so.  Now  I  do  think  this  is  a  point  for  very  seri- 
ous consideration,  and  I  think  it  ought  to  be  distinctly  sug- 
gested to  the  Committee  before  I  can  be  in  a  position  to  comply 
with  or  decline  complying  with  their  request. 


PREFACE.  xi 

"  Besides  this,  I  believe  that  they  have  erred  in  the  estimate 
of  mental  calibre.  I  wish  most  earnestly  for  their  own  sakes 
that  they  would  select  a  better  man." 

Subsequently  he  writes  as  follows  : — 

"  Last  night  I  attended  the  meeting  of  the  Working  Man's 
Institute,  and  was  very  much  struck  with  the  genuine,  manly, 
moral  tone  of  the  speakers.  I  went  home  with  quite  elevated 
hopes  for  my  country,  when  I  compared  the  tone  with  that  of 
the  French  clubs. ,  And  my  whole  heart  sympathized  with 
what  your  feelings  must  have  been  in  the  success  of  your 
brave  efforts.  Of  course  people  who  expect  in  it  a  perfect 
Utopia  will  be  disappointed,  or  gratified,  by  finding  it  so  far  a 
failure.  But  the  similar  institutions  of  the  upper  classes  have 
been,  like  all  human  things,  checkered  with  good  and  evil ;  a 
means  of  increasing  the  powers  of  good  men  for  good,  and 
those  of  bad  men  for  bad.  You  do  not  expect  more  than  this ; 
the  inevitable  result  of  all  powers  and  privileges  added  to 
humanity.  But  they  must  be  added,  come  what  may.  There 
is  no  other  intelligible  principle  which  will  not  be  compelled 
in  consistency  to  recognize  barbarism  as  the  highest  state." 

Writing  to  Lady  Henley  at  this  time,  Mr. 
Robertson  says : — 

"  I  am  anxious  to  enlist  your  sympathy  in  the  cause  which  I 
am  trying  to  assist.  The  case  is  this.  About  1,100  working  men 
in  this  town  have  just  organized  themselves  into  an  association 
which,  by  a  small  weekly  subscription,  enables  them  to  have  a 
library  and  reading-room.  Their  proceedings  hitherto  have 
been  marked  by  singular  judgment  and  caution,  except  in  one 
point,  that  they  have  unexpectedly  applied  to  me  to  give  them 
an  opening  address. 


Xii  PREFACE. 

"  A  large  number  of  these  are  intelligent  Chartists,  and 
there  is  some  misgiving  in  a  few  minds  as  to  what  will  be  the 
result  of  this  movement,  and  some  suspicion  of  its  being  only 
a  political  engine.  The  address  on  Monday  is  therefore  ex- 
pected to  contain  a  proposal  for  boiling  down  the  Irish  land- 
lords and  potting  them,  to  support  the  poor  this  winter ;  and 
another,  more  democratic  still,  for  barrelling  and  salting  the 
aristocracy  and  the  parsons,  for  home  consumption  in  the 
poor-houses.  But  I  must  gravely  assure  you  that  this  is  pre- 
mature. Nor  do  I  think  such  a  measure  would  be  expedient 
yet. 

"  My  reasons  for  being  anxious  about  this  effort  are  these — 
it  will  be  made.  The  working  men  have  as  much  right  to  a 
library  and  reading-room  as  the  gentlemen  at  Folthorp's  or 
the  tradesmen  at  the  Athenreum.  The  only  question  is 
whether  it  shall  be  met  warmly  on  our  parts,  or  with  that 
coldness  which  deepens  the  suspicion,  already  rankling  in  the 
lower  classes,  that  their  superiors  are  willing  for  them  to  im- 
prove so  long  as  they  themselves  are  allowed  to  have  the  lead- 
ing strings.  I  wish  they  had  not  asked  me,  as  it  puts  me  in  an 
invidious  position  as  a  stranger  in  the  town ;  and  I  begin  to 
suspect  that  my  reason  for  writing  this  long  note  was  to  ex- 
culpate myself  from  the  charge  of  affecting  prominence  in  the 
town. 

"  The  selection  of  books  for  the  library  is  a  matter  of  very 
great  importance,  as  I  have  become  aware,  since  getting  a 
little  insight  into  the  working  of  this  Institute,  of  an  amount 
of  bitterness  and  jealousy,  and  hatred  of  things  as  they  are, 
which  I  had  not  before  suspected  in  its  full  extent.  And 
people  go  on  saying, '  Peace,  peace,  when  there  is  no  peace  ! ' " 

The  address  was  delivered  and  created  a  great 
sensation  amongst  all  classes.     It  was  marked  by 


PREFACE.  xiii 

extraordinary  oratorical  power,  arid  evinced  a 
faculty  for  addressing  a  popular  assembly  greater 
even  than  had  been  expected. 

The  original  plan  of  the  Working  Man's  Insti- 
tute failed  ;  doubtless  because  it  was  based  on  a 
selfish  policy  of  class  isolation,  rather  than  on  the 
broad  principle  of  union  one  with  another.  Some 
of  the  elements  of  its  weakness  may  be  traced  in 
the  second  address  which  Mr.  Robertson  delivered 
to  the  members  of  this  body.  The  result  of  that 
address  was  a  determination  by  the  majority  to 
construct  an  association  on  wiser  principles,  and 
during  the  progress  of  this  work,  the  success  of 
which  was  very  much  owing  to  the  zeal  and 
energy  of  the  Secretary  and  the  Committee,  Mr. 
Robertson  was  ever  ready  with  wise  counsel  and 
efficient  help.  His  heart  was  deeply  with  the 
working  men,  and  plans  and  efforts  for  their  eleva- 
tion occupied  much  of  his  thought.  The  follow- 
ing extracts  from  letters  written  at  this  period 
will  show  that  he  gave  them  no  half-hearted  or 
formal  assistance. 

"  I  will  pledge  myself,  if  your  society  is  formed,  and  con- 
tains in  it  the  elements  of  vitality,  to  give  either  an  opening 
address,  or  a  lecture  before  the  close  of  this  year. 

"  But  it  seems  to  me  a  matter   of  great  importance   that 

public  attention  should  not  be  ostentatiously  called  again  so 

soon  to  your  efforts  at  self-restoration,  so  long  as  they  are  only 

efforts.    If  the  Institute  is  needed,  really  craved  and  earnestly 

2 


XIV  PREFACE. 

desired  by  the  forking  men,  they  will  enroll  themselves  in 
sufficient  numbers  to  ensure  its  existence  without  the  excite- 
ment of  an  address.  If  they  would  not  without  this,  then  I 
am  sure  that  to  attempt  to  secure  their  adhesion  by  such 
means  would  be  very  dangerous. 

"  On  the  former  occasion  nearly  700,  in  a  fit  of  transient 
enthusiasm,  joined  themselves,  I  believe,  and  (out  of  about 
1,300)  withdrew  directly  after.  If  artificial  means  are  neces- 
sary to  preserve  its  existence,  then  the  society  will  soon  die  a 
natural  death ;  and  we  should  be  again  covered  with  the 
shame  of  an  abortive  attempt.  The  cause  of  the  working  men 
cannot  afford  this.  Better  fail  silently  than  make  another 
public  confession  of  incapacity. 

"  Now  an  address  at  present  would  draw  the  attention  of 
the  town.  It  would  perhaps  induce  waverers  to  join,  as  all 
public  excitement  does  ;  and  it  might  secure  immediate  ready 
money.  But  these  are  trifles  compared  with  the  risk  of  the 
withdrawal  of  many  soon  after.  And  suppose  that  enough  to 
support  the  society  did  not  join  ? 

"  Let  me  propose  therefore :  Begin  your  society  as  soon 
and  as  quietly  as  possible ;  that  is,  as  quietly  as  is  consistent 
with  that  publicity  which  is  necessary  to  acquaint  the  working 
men  with  the  fact  of  a  new  association  being  in  process  of  for- 
mation. If  sufficient  members  do  not  present  themselves,  then 
the  thing  quietly  dies  away  till  a  better  opportunity ;  and  be 
sure  that  no  artificial  excitement  could  have  given  it  perma- 
nence, though  it  might  have  caused  a  premature  abortive  birth. 

"  After  some  months,  if  the  association  lives  with  internal 
strength,  then  we  may  try  external  aids.  I,  for  my  part, 
pledge  myself  as  I  have  said.  But  the  great  lesson  for  us  all 
in  these  days  of  puffing  advertisements,  is  to  learn  to  work 
silently  and  truly,  and  to  leave  self-advertisement  and  self- 
puffing  to  people  who  are  on  the  verge  of  bankruptcy." 


PREFACE.  XV 

The  Committee  were  anxious  that  Mr.  Robert- 
son should  be  the  President  of  the  New  Associa- 
tion, and  in  answer  to  their  application  on  this 
subject,  he  writes  : — 

"  In  reply  to  your  letter  of  this  day,  I  may  briefly  say  that 
the  idea  of  my  accepting  the  Presidentship  of  the  Institute  is 
quite  out  of  the  question.  I  do  not  consider  myself  competent 
for  such  an  office,  nor  am  I  sure  that  it  would  be  to  the  ad- 
vantage of  the  society.  ...  I  believe  I  could  assist  the 
members  more  truly,  at  all  events  more  independently,  in  a 
subordinate  position.  Prominence  and  power  are.  things  for 
which  I  have  no  taste. 

"  I  am  very  anxious  that  there  should  be  no  second  failure, 
but  I  think   that   the   greatest  wisdom   and   experience  are 

needful   to    prevent  it The  working   men  have 

shown  that  even  a  right-minded  majority  is  unable  to  protect 
itself  against  a  turbulent  minority,  without  the  introduction 
of  other  elements  of  society  to  support  them — to  support,  not 
dictate  ;  for  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  see  a  majority  of  gentle- 
men on  the  committee.  But  they  want  some,  of  weight  and 
wisdom,  to  fall  back  upon.  And,  indeed,  this  is  the  only  true 
democratic  principle  to  my  mind — not  an  oligarchy  of  the 
poorest;  but  a  fusion  of  ranks,  with  such  weight  allowed, 
under  checks,  as  is  due  to  superior  means  of  acquiring  infor- 
mation. 

"  What  grieves  me  to  the  heart  is  to  see  distrust  in  the 
minds  of  working  men  of  those  wealthier  than  themselves ; 
and  nothing  is  more  mischievous  or  unchristian  than  to  gain 
popularity  with  them  by  fostering  these  feelings,  and  insinuat- 
ing that  the  clergy  and  the  religious  and  the  rich  are  their 
enemies,  or  only  espouse  their  cause  for  an  end. 

"  I  must  not  accept  any  high  office  ;  I  am  their  friend,  but 


XYi  PREFACE. 

I  want  nothing  from  them — not  even  influence  nor  their 
praise.  If  I  can  do  them  even  a  little  good,  well ;  but  for 
their  sakes  I  must  not  take  any  thing  which  could  leave  on 
one  of  their  minds  the  shadow  of  a  shade  of  a  suspicion  of  my 
motives." 

Some  months  after,  very  urgent  representations 
were  made  to  Mr.  Robertson  as  to  the  benefit  the 
struggling  Institution  would  receive  by  his  assist- 
ance in  a  Lecture,  and  he  then  wrote  as  follows 
to  the  Secretary  : — 

"  In  reply  to  your  communication  of  the  21st,  which  I  only 
had  last  night  after  an  absenee  from  Brighton,  I  beg  to  say 
that  after  much  consideration,  I  have  come  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  it  is  my  duty  not  to  refuse  the  request  made  to 
me. 

"  I  am  very  unfit  at  present  for  the  excitement  of  address- 
ing numbers ;  but  knowing'  that  the  insufficiency  will  be 
pardoned,  and  feeling  deep  interest  in  the  success  of  the 
working  men,  I  shall  not  allow  this  to  stand  in  the  way. 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  the  name  of  the  Institution  was  to  be 
changed.  Is  not  tins  virtually  acknowledging  that  the  former 
attempt  was  a  failure,  instead  of  the  society  being,  as  I  believe 
it  is,  the  old  one  purified  by  experience  ?  Not  knowing  the 
reasons  for  the  change,  which  perhaps  are  valid,  at  first  sight 
I  am  inclined  to  regret  it.  There  is  much  in  names,  espec- 
ially when  they  are  associated  with  recollections  which  can 
be  appealed  to,  and  when  they  adhere  to  a  society  through 
many  shocks  and  changes.  Besides,  '  Working  Man '  is  a 
noble  title  for  any  human  being  ;  a  human  being's  right  title. 
4  Mechanic '  is  a  poor  class  title,  like  Agriculturist,  Botanist, 
Sailor,  &c.  &c.     Besides,  it  is   not  true  as  a  designation  for 


PREFACE.  xvn 

your  society ;  a  schoolmaster  is  not  a  mechanic,  nor  a  retail 
dealer  of  any  kind,  yet  many  such  are  in  the  society.  Ought 
you  not,  like  good  soldiers  in  a  great  cause,  to  stand  to  your 
colours  ?  " 

That  Society  is  now  working  admirably  and 
efficiently  under  the  name  of  the  Brighton  Me- 
chanics' Institute,  on  principles  which  Mr.  Rob- 
ertson considered  to  be  more  in  accordance 
with  sound  views  of  social  and  political  econ- 
omy. 

The  "  Two  Lectures  on  the  Influence  of  Po- 
etry "  were  given  in  fulfilment  of  the  pledge  con- 
tained in  the  foregoing  extracts  from  letters ;  and 
their  delivery  created  a  great  sensation.  To  those 
who  never  heard  Mr.  Robertson  speak,  it  may  be 
interesting  to  learn  that  he  was  gifted  with  a 
voice  of  wonderful  sweetness  and  power.  So 
flexible  and  harmonious  was  it,  that  it  gave 
expression  to  the  finest  tones  of  feeling ;  so 
thrilling,  that  it  stirred  men  to  the  heart.  His 
gesture  was  simple  and  quiet; — his  whole  soul 
so  thoroughly  absorbed  in  his  subject  that  all  was 
intensely  real,  natural,  and  earnest. 

The  following  letter  from  the  Earl  of  Carlisle, 
on  some  points  referred  to  in  the  Lectures  on 
Poetry,  is  given,  partly  for  the  sake  of  the  crit- 
icism which  it  contains,  and  partly  because 
it  leads,   naturally,    to    one   from    Mr.    Robert- 

2* 


xviu  PREFACE. 

son,  which  further   illustrates   his  views    on   po- 
etry :— 

"  I  would  not  thank  you  for  your  most  acceptable  present 
till  I  bad  enjoyed  tbe  pleasure  of  making  acquaintance  with 
its  contents.  I  have  recognized  in  them  all  the  high  ability 
and  the  generous  and  delicate  feeling  which  I  could  have 
expected. 

"  Upon  one  or  two  points  of  mere  taste  we  may  not  wholly 
agree,  but  there  is  no  part  of  what  you  inculcate  with  which  I 
agree  more  fully  than  that  in  which  you  commend  universality 
of  taste.  I  have  some  doubts,  for  instance,  about  this,  '  the 
best  poetry  demands  study  as  severe  as  mathematics  require.' 

"  I  take,  what  appear  to  me  to  be  the  highest  of  human 
compositions,  the  Iliad  and  Macbeth,  and  I  think  they  both 
are  eminently  intelligible  without  pain  or  effort.  Perhaps  I 
would  give  up  Hamlet  to  you — not  Othello. 

"  I  think  you  rate  Dr.  Johnson's  poetical  powers  too  low. 

"  '  Rest  undisturbed  within  thy  peaceful  shrine, 
Till  angels  wake  thee  with  a  note  like  thine.' 

"  I  must  not,  however,  indulge  in  mere  prattle.  Let  me  re- 
pay your  kindness  in  the  same  coin,  of  however  inferior  value. 
I  assure  you,  with  all  truth,  that  I  look  on  some  things  I  have 
said  with  more  complacency,  when  I  flatter  myself  that  there 
is  some  identity  of  view  between  us." 

His  lordship  accompanied  his  letter  by  a  copy 
of  his  Lectures  on  Pope,  and  Mr.  Robertson  re- 
plied— 

"  I  will  not  allow  a  post  to  pass  without  thanking  you  very 
gratefully  for  your  kind  present,  and  kinder  note,  the  approval 


PREFACE.  xix 

of  which  I  feel  to  be  very  invigorating.  I  was  very  glad  to 
find  that  there  was  not  a  syllable  of  the  Lecture  on  Pope,  which 
jarred  with  my  estimate  of  him,  which  I  a  little  feared.  But 
the  passage  quoted  from  Warton,  page  10,  and  another  of  your 
own,  page  16,  '  'Twas  not  so  much  the  pomp  and  prodigality 
of  heaven,'  etc.  express,  though  with  far  more  precision,  ex- 
actly the  reasons  which  I  briefly  alleged  for  ranking  Pope  in 
the  second  order,  but,  in  that  order,  first.  I  congratulated 
myself  much  on  perceiving  so  far  this  agreement,  and  in  all 
the  admiration  which  the  lecture  contains,  I  heartily  concur. 

"  The  passage,  page  105,  '  Heaven  was  made  for  those  who 
had  failed  in  this  world,'  struck  me  very  forcibly  several  years 
ago,  when  I  read  it  in  a  newspaper,  and  became  a  rich  vein  of 
thought  in  which  I  often  quarried ;  especially  when  the  sen- 
tence was  interpreted  by  the  Cross,  which  was  failure,  appar- 
ently. 

"  My  sentence,  '  The  best  poetry  demands  study  as  severe 
as  mathematics  require,'  is  very  justly  open  to  criticism ;  but 
more,  I  think,  from  the  unfinished  abruptness  of  the  phraseol- 
ogy than  from  its  real  meaning.  The  best  poetry  has  a  sense 
which  is  level  to  the  apprehension  at  once  ;  not  being  obscure 
in  expression,  nor  metaphysical  or  scholastic  in  thought ;  but 
then  any  one  who  had  caught  this  meaning  at  the  first  glance 
would  be  greatly  mistaken  if  he  supposed  that  he  had  got  all, 
or  nearly  all,  it  meant. 

"  The  dewdrop  that  glitters  on  the  end  of  every  leaf  after  a 
shower  is  beautiful  even  to  a  child ;  but  I  suppose  that  to  a 
Herschel,  who  knows  that  the  lightning  itself  sleeps  within  it, 
and  understands  and  feels  all  its  mysterious  connections  with 
earth  and  sky  and  planets,  it  is  suggestive  of  feeling  of  a 
far  deeper  beauty ;  and  the  very  instances  you  allege,  Macbeth 
and  the  Iliad,  would  substantiate  what  I  meant,  though  not 
what  I  awkwardly  perhaps  seemed  to  say.    Macbeth,  all  ac- 


XX  PREFACE. 

tion,  swift  and  hurried  in  its  progress  towards  denouement,  is 
intelligible  at  once.  But  I  spent  myself*  many  weeks  upon  it, 
and  only  began  at  last  to  feel  that  it  was  simple,  because  deep. 
Some  exquisite  and  fine  remarks  of  Mrs.  Jameson  on  certain 
characters  in  it,  and  profounder  ones  of  Coleridge  on  others, 
have  brought  out  a  meaning  that  we  feel  at  once  was  in  it,  and 
not  forced  upon  it.  In  the  sense  I  meant,  I  should  say  Macbeth 
could  not  be  understood,  especially  as  a  whole,  except  with 
hard  study. 

"  I  am  very  much  tempted  to  accept  the  challenge  of  page 
28,  in  the  Lecture  on  Pope.  '  I  would  beg  any  of  the  detractors 
of  Pope  to  furnish  me  with  another  couple  of  lines  from  any 
author  whatever,  which  encloses  so  much  sublimity  of  meaning 
within  such  compressed  limits,  and  such  precise  terms.' 

"  If  it  were  not  that  the  cartel  is  addressed  only  to  Pope's 
detractors,  I  think  I  should  allege  that  wonderful  couplet  of  the 
Erd  Geist  in  Faust — 

"  '  So  schaff '  ich  am  sausenden  Webstuhl  der  Zeit 
Und  wirke  der  Gottheit  lebendiges  Kleid ; ' 

at  least  if  I  might  interpret  them  by  Psalm  cii.  26,  27. 

"  In  the  graceful  courtesy  with  which  your  lordship  acknowl- 
edges that  there  is  'some  identity  of  view  between  us,'  I 
receive  the  best  and  most  cheering  reward  that  my  little  pam- 
phlet has  obtained." 

The  Lecture  on  "Wordsworth  was  delivered  be- 
fore the  members  of  the  Athenaeum,  and  was  to 
have  been  followed  by  a  second  on  the  same  sub- 
ject ;  but  Mr.  Robertson's  health  was  never  after- 
wards equal  to  the  exertion.  This  lecture  has  not 
had  the  advantage  of  his  own  corrections.  He  was 
criticized  by  the  South  Church  Union  Chronicle 


PREFACE.  xxi 

as  teaching  in  it  "  Pantheism,"  and  as  unfairly 
attacking  High  Churchmen.  To  this  he  replied 
in  the  following  letter : — 

"  In  the  columns  of  the  Brighton  Guardian,  denominated 
the  '  South  Church  Union  Chronicle,'  I  see  some  strictures  on 
certain  expressions  attributed  to  me  in  my  Lecture  upon 
Wordsworth.  With  the  tone  of  the  strictures,  excepting  one 
sentence  which  I  regret, — not  for  my  own  sake,  for  it  is  un- 
true, but  for  the  writer's  sake,  for  it  is  rude  and  coarse — I  can 
find  no  fault.  The  whole  criticism,  however,  is  based  on  a 
misconception.  It  proceeds  on  the  assumption  that  I  com- 
plained, with  blame,  that — 

" '  High  Churchism  regarded  with  peculiar  reverence  a 
sanctity  as  connected  with  certain  places,  times,  acts,  and 
persons,'  &c. 

u  I  did  not  use  those  words.  That  was  not  my  definition  of 
High  Churchism;  and  to  have  condemned  it  as  so  defined 
would  have  contradicted  my  argument,  for  I  was  actually  at 
the  moment  justifying  Wordsworth,  who  is  well  known  to  have 
entertained  such  feelings.  Had  I  so  spoken,  I  should  have 
condemned  a  feeling  of  the  relative  sanctity  of  such  things ;  a 
feeling  which  I  comprehend  too  entirely  to  have  any  inclina- 
tion to  interfere  with. 

"  What  I  did  say  was  as  follows  :  '  The  tendency  of  Pan- 
theism is  to  see  the  godlike  everywhere,  the  personal  God 
nowhere.  The  tendency  of  High  Churchism  is  to  localize  the 
personal  Deity  in  certain  consecrated  places,  called  churches ; 
certain  consecrated  times,  called  Sabbaths,  fast  days,  and  so 
forth  ;  certain  consecrated  acts,  sacramental  and  quasi-sacra- 
mental ;  certain  consecrated  persons,  called  priests.' 

"  I  endeavoured  to  show  that  the  tendency  is  not  necessarily 
the  error ;   and  that  there  are  High  Churchmen,  like  Words- 


XXil  PREFACE. 

•worth,  who  recognize  in  such  places,  persons,  and  acts,  a 
sanctity  only  relative  and  not  intrinsic, — relative  to  the  wor- 
shippers, without  localizing  or  limiting  Deity  in  or  to  the  acts, 
times,  or  places;  Pantheistic  and  High  Church  tendencies, 
each  false  alone,  balancing  each  other  in  the  particular  case 
of  such  men. 

"  I  have  no  intention  of  entering  into  controversy  on  this 
point ;  and  I  should,  according  to  my  hitherto  invariable 
practice,  have  left  both  the  misrepresentation  and  the  criti- 
cism unnoticed,  were  it  not  that  the  words,  as  they  stand,  if 
used  by  me,  would  have  evidenced  an  unworthy  desire  of 
turning  aside  from  my  subject  to  pander  to  the  passions  of  my 
audience,  and  seeking  a  miserable  popularity  by  an  attempt 
to  feed  that  theological  rancour  which  is  the  most  detestable 
phase  of  the  religion  of  the  day. 

"  I  do  not  merely  say  that  I  was  not  guilty  of  this  paltry 
work.  I  say  it  is  simply  impossible  to  me.  To  affirm,  what- 
ever may  be  taught  by  our  savage  polemics,  whether  Tracta- 
rian  or  Evangelical,  that  the  new  commandment  is  not  this — 
'  that  ye  hate  one  another  ' — and  that  discipleship  to  Christ  is 
proved  more  by  the  intensity  of  love  for  good  than  by  the 
vehemence  of  bitterness  against  error,  is  with  me  a  desire  too 
deep,  too  perpetual,  and  too  unsatisfied,  to  have  allowed  the 
possibility  of  my  joining,  even  for  one  moment,  in  the  cowardlj 
cry  with  which  the  terrors  and  the  passions  of  the  half-informed 
are  lashed  by  platform  rhetoric  into  hatred  of  High  Church- 
men." 

And,  as  further  elucidating  his  opinions  on  these 
subjects,  the  following  extract  from  a  letter  which 
he  wrote  about  this  time  will  be  of  interest : — 

"  I  gratefully  accept  your  hint  about  the  definition  of  High 
Churchmanship.     I  will  modify  what  I  said,  to  prevent  mis- 


PREFACE.  xxiii 

understanding.  At  the  same  time,  as  High  Churchmanship, 
in  the  sense  in  which  I  was  then  speaking,  is  in  my  view  an 
error,  I  must  represent  it  in  its  most  developed,  not  in  its 
modified  form,  and  as  the  exact  opposite  of  Pantheism.  All 
grand  truth  is  the  statement  of  two  opposites,  not  a  via  media 
between  them,  nor  either  of  them  alone.  I  conceive  Words- 
worth to  have  held  both ;  the  Personality  of  the  Eternal 
Being,  and  also  his  diffusion  through  space.  Now  I  cannot 
conceal  my  conviction  that  it  is  the  vice  of  High  Churchism 
in  its  tendency,  to  exaggerate  the  former  of  these,  by  localizing 
Deity  in  acts,  places,  &c.  It  is  the  vice  of  Pantheism  to  hold 
the  latter  alone. 

"  When  a  High  Churchman  fully  recognizes  the  latter,  as 
Wordsworth  did,  I  care  little  for  any  trifling  exaggerations  of 
the  former,  and  I  will  always  fight  for  him  and  maintain  that 
his  High  Churchism  has  no  radical  error  in  it,  even  though 
his  expressions  may  to  my  mind  seem  to  predicate  locality  of 
Him  much  more  than  I  should  like  to  do  it.  But  when  he 
represents  Personality  as  a  limitation  to  Time,  Space,  Acts, 
&c,  instead  of  recognizing  it  in  three  essential  points,  all 
metaphysical  and  supersensual,  viz :  Consciousness,  Will, 
Character,  then  I  must  earnestly  and  firmly  oppose  High 
Churchism,  and  say  that  its  tendency  is  to  localize;  and  I 
must  quote  anxiously  those  texts  which,  taken  alone,  have  a 
Pantheistic  sound.  '  Howbeit,  the  Most  High  dwelleth  not  in 
temples  made  with  hands.  Heaven  is  my  throne ;  Earth  is 
my  footstool ;  what  house  will  ye  build  for  me,'  &c. 

"  And  indeed  I  do  think  that  this  is  a  very  common  and 
very  dangerous  tendency.  I  will  modify  my  definition  by 
saying  it  is  the  tendency  of  High  Churchism.  That  it  is  not  in- 
separable from  it  I  showed  by  defending  Wordsworth.  High 
Churchism  I  hate.  High  Churchmen,  many  of  them,  I  love, 
admire,  and  sympathize  with." 


xxiv  PREFACE. 

The  next  in  order  in  this  volume  is  the  Lecture 
delivered  at  the  opening  of  a  Reading  Room  at 
Hurstper-point,  a  village  about  eight  miles  from 
Brighton,  and  which  lecture  Mr.  Robertson  con- 
sented to  deliver  from  motives  of  personal  friend- 
ship. 

A  reporter  was  present,  and  a  fair  copy  from 
his  notes  was  given  to  Mr.  Robertson.  That  fair 
copy  cannot  now  be  discovered,  and  as  these 
notes,  in  his  own  handwriting,  appear  to  be  the 
original  preparative  sketch  of  his  lecture,  and  are 
so  exceedingly  suggestive,  it  has  been  judged 
better  to  print  them  as  they  were  found. 

The  friend  at  whose  instance  this  Lecture  was 
delivered  writes  : — 

"...  although  the  language  used  by  Mr.  Kobertson 
was  much  above  the  comprehension  of  the  agricultural  class 
of  the  village,  "whose  life  is  more  marked  by  its  stern  content- 
ment than  of  much  self-education  through  the  medium  of 
books,  yet  I  am  able  to  record  that  there  was  nevertheless 
such  a  charm  about  this  lecture  as  to  excite  a  considerable 
number  of  the  audience  to  request  its  immediate  publication." 

The  Speech,  on  the  question  of  closing  shops  at 
an  earlier  hour,  is  printed  from  a  transcript  from 
the  shorthand  writer's  notes,  aided  by  such  pri- 
vate memoranda  as  were  available  ;  it  was  not 
popular  with  the  employes,  partly,  it  is  believed, 
from  some  little  misconception.     Mr.  Robertson 


PKEFACE.  XXV 

could  never  be  a  mere  partizan,  and  his  clear 
judgment  saw  that,  however  desirable  and  right 
was  the  object  which  the  young  men  were  striv- 
ing to  attain,  there  were  difficulties  to  be  over- 
come which  it  was  not  wise  to  ignore ;  and  also 
that  there  were  two  sides  to  the  question,  the 
arguments  not  being  exhausted  by  denouncing 
all  the  masters  who  hesitated  in  making  the  con- 
cession, as  mean,  selfish,  and  tyrannical. 

As  delivered,  it  was  a  noble  speech ;  it  did  not 
of  course  win  the  loudest  cheers  ;  but  it  aided 
the  cause  of  the  young  men  more  effectually  than 
some  other  speakers  did,  who  raised  a  temporary 
enthusiasm  by  refusing  to  admit  that  there  were 
any  obstacles  but  such  as  were  represented  by 
covetousness. 

The  Speech  on  behalf  of  the  Association  for 
improving  the  Dwellings  of  the  Working  Classes, 
was  remarkable  on  account  of  the  bitterness  which 
it  produced  in  some  minds,  owing  to  the  fearless- 
ness with  which  Mr.  Robertson  treated  the  Sab- 
bath question. 

At  the  time  of  this  meeting,  the  Crystal  Palace 
at  Sydenham  was  being  erected,  and  it  was  cur- 
rently reported  that  the  Government  had  granted 
a  Charter  of  Incorporation  to  the  Company,  with 
permission  to  open  the  building  to  the  public 
on  Sunday.     The   country  was  much  disturbed 


XXVI  PKEFACE. 

thereat,  and  Brighton  was  not  behind  other  places 
in  petitioning  and  holding  meetings.  Sermons 
were  preached,  simultaneously,  in  nearly  all  the 
pulpits  in  the  town,  on  the  general  question  of 
the  desecration  of  the  Sabbath  ;  thousands  of 
tracts  on  the  subject  were  distributed,  and  associ- 
ations formed. 

From  this  movement  Mr.  Robertson  held 
aloof;  he  preached  a  sermon  on  the  subject, 
which,  to  many  minds,  was  most  conclusive ;  * 
and  in  reference  to  the  controversy,  which  had 
become  (on  one  side)  very  bitter,  he  wrote  to  a 
friend : — 

"  As  you  will  be  here  next  week,  I  will  not  write  you  a 
volume,  for  nothing  less  would  do.  I  preached  on  the  subject 
on  Sunday,  satisfactorily  to  myself  at  least,  a  thing  which  has 
occurred  to  me  but  once  or  twice  in  all  my  ministry  ;  so  I  am 
thoroughly  prepared  with  an  opinion  on  a  matter  I  have  well 
considered.  I  will  say  at  present  I  am  quite  resolved  to  sign 
no  petition.  Dr.  V.'s  pamphlet  does  not  go  to  the  root  of  the 
matter.  I  agree  with  him  in  viewing  the  move,  so  far  as  it  is 
an  avowed  innovation,  with  great  jealousy,  but  I  cannot  ask 
for  a  State  enactment  to  reimpose  a  law  which  Christianity 
has  repealed,  without   yielding  the  very  principle  of  Chris- 

*  This  Sermon  is  published  in  the  Second  Series  of  Mr.  Eobertson's 
Sermons,  and  should  be  read  by  any  one  desirous  of  understanding 
Mr.  Robertson's  views  on  this  question,  as  it  is  treated  there  more 
completely  than  it  was  possible  to  do  in  a  letter.  There  is  also  a 
Sermon  on  the  "  Shadow  and  Substance  of  the  Sabbath,"  in  the 
First  Series,  which  may  be  read  with  advantage. 


PREFACE  xxvii 

tianity.  Historically,  the  Lord's  Day  was  not  a  transference 
of  the  Jewish  Sabbath  at  all  from  one  day  to  another.  St. 
Paul,  in  Rom.  xvi.  5,  6,  speaks  of  a  religious  non-observance 
of  the  Sabbath ;  I  cannot  say  or  think  that  the  Crystal  Palace 
affair  is  a  religious  non-observance,  believing  it  to  be  merely  a 
lucrative  speculation  ;  nevertheless,  I  have  nothing  to  do  with 
that.  The  Sabbath  is  abrogated,  and  the  observance  of  a 
Day  of  Rest  is  only  a  most  wise  human  law  now,  not  to  be 
enforced  by  penalties.  Besides,  how  dare  we  refuse  a  public 
concession  to  the  poor  man  of  a  right  of  recreation  which  has 
been  long  assumed  by  the  rich  man  with  no  protest  or  outcry 
from  the  clergy,  who  seem  touched  to  the  quick  only  when 
desecration,  as  they  call  it,  is  noisy  and  vulgar  ?  " 

His  correspondent  suggested,  in  answer,  Bishop 
Horsley's  critical  treatment  of  the  question,  and 
to  this  letter  he  replied : — 

"  '  Horsley's  Sermons '  I  only  vaguely  remember.  I  am 
quite  at  ease  on  the  subject.  The  critical  disposal  of  this  or 
that  text  would  not  alter  my  views.  I  am  certain  of  the 
Genius  and  Spirit  of  Christianity ;  certain  of  St.  Paul's  root 
thoughts — far  more  certain  than  I  can  be  of  the  correctness  or 
incorrectness  of  any  isolated  interpretation ;  and  I  must  re- 
verse all  my  conceptions  of  Christianity — which  is  the  Mind 
of  CHRIST — before  I  can  believe  the  Evangelico-Judaic 
theory ;  which  is,  that  Mr.  .  .  .  may,  without  infringement 
of  the  4th  Commandment,  drive  his  carriage  to  church  twice 
every  Sunday,  but  a  poor  man  may  not  drive  his  cart ; — that 
the  four  or  five  hours  spent  in  the  evening  by  a  noble  lord 
over  venison,  champagne,  dessert,  and  coffee,  are  no  desecra- 
tion of  the  command;  but  the  same  number  spent  by  an 
artisan  over  cheese  and  beer  in  a  tea-garden,  will  bring  down 


xxvm  PEEFACE. 

God's  judgment  on  the  land.  It  is  worse  than  absurd.  It  is 
the  very  spirit  of  that  Pharisaism  which  our  Lord  rebuked  so 
sternly.  And  then  men  get  up  on  platforms  as  .  .  .  did ;  and 
quietly  assume  that  they  are  the  religious,  and  that  all  who 
disagree,  whether  writers  in  the  '  Times,'  Sir  R.  Peel,  or  the 
'  sad  exceptions,'  of  whom  I  was  one,  to  which  he  alluded,  are 
either  neologians  or  hired  writers  !  Better  break  a  thousand 
sabbaths  than  lie  and  slander  thus !  But  the  sabbath  of  the 
Christian  is  the  consecration  of  all  time  to  God ;  of  which  the 
Jewish  Sabbath  was  but  the  type  and  shadow;  see  Col.  ii.  16, 
17.  Bishop  Horsley's  attempt  to  get  over  that  verse  is  miser- 
able, I  remember. 

" '  Six  hundred  churches  wanted.'  Yes  !  but  when  shall  we 
have  different  hours  for  service  and  different  congregations  in 
one  church,  say  one  for  three  congregations  ;  and  so  save  two 
thirds  of  the  money  spent  on  stone  and  brick,  that  it  may  be 
spent  on  the  truer  temple,  human  beings  in  whom  God's  Spirit 
dwells  ?  They  do  this  on  the  Continent,  and  with  no  inconve- 
nience. Besides,  the  inconvenience  and  mutual  giving  way, 
would  be  all  so  much  gain  for  Christian  life,  instead  of  an  ob- 
jection to  the  plan." 

A  member  of  his  congregation  wrote  to  him  on 
this  subject,  and,  as  was  his  wont,  he  replied  fully 
and  frankly.* 

The  occasion  on  which  the  next  speech  was 

*  That  letter  is  not  given  here  lest  it  should  swell  this  Introduction 
to  an  undue  limit,  but  it  will  be  printed  in  a  volume  of  "  Letters  on 
Theological,  Philosophical,  and  Social  Questions,"  which  is  now  pre- 
paring for  the  press.  It  will  not  be  out  of  place  here  to  request  that 
any  one  who  may  have  received  letters  from  Mr.  Eobertson  on  any  of 
these  topics  would  be  so  kind  as  to  send  them  to  the  Editor  of  Mr. 
Robertson's  Lectures,  care  of  Messrs.  Smith,  Elder  and  Co.,  London. 
The  letters  shall  be  immediately  copied  and  returned. 


PREFACE.  xxix 

delivered,  was  one  of  the  most  interesting  ever 
seen  in  Brighton.  One  hundred  young  men  of 
Mr.  Robertson's  congregation  signed  an  address 
to  him,  expressive  of  their  gratitude  for  his  un- 
wearied zeal  in  their  behalf.  They  invited  him  to 
tea  at  the  Town  Hall.  Many  others  were  also 
present,  but  all  were  men.  That  evening  is  well 
remembered  still.  It  presented  some  remarkable 
features.  One  of  the  young  men,  Mr.  C.  H. 
Evans,  rose  and  presented  the  address,  and  in 
doing  so  spoke  with  great  feeling  and  earnestness 
of  the  benefit  which  he  and  the  others,  for  whom 
he  was  that  evening  the  mouth-piece,  had  received 
from  Mr.  Robertson's  teaching.  He  dwelt  on  the 
reconciling,  harmonizing  spirit  Mr.  Robertson  had 
induced  between  rich  and  poor — between  the 
stragglers  in  life  and  their  lot.  He  reviewed  the 
characteristics  of  Mr.  Robertson's  public  ministry, 
and  vindicated  it  from  the  charges  which  had 
recently  been  brought  against  it  in  the  columns 
of  a  certain  party  journal;  and  having  adverted 
to  the  altered  state  of  feeling  in  the  working 
classes  of  the  town,  which  he  attributed  mainly  to 
Mr.  Robertson's  efforts  to  bring  about  a  union  of 
classes,  expressed  an  earnest  hope  that  long — very 
long — might  the  town  have  the  benefit  of  his 
talents  and  self-devotion. 

All   rose    as    he    spoke.      Mr.   Robertson   was 

3* 


xxx  PREFACE. 

deeply  moved.  All  felt  that  if  there  were  many 
ministers  like  him,  how  far  brighter  would  become 
the  prospect  of  a  kingdom  of  Heaven  upon  earth. 

The  last  speech  in  this  volume  was  delivered 
on  the  memorable  occasion  of  the  attempt  of 
Pope  Pius  IX.  to  parcel  out  England  into  Eccle- 
siastical Dioceses  under  Romish  bishops,  with 
Cardinal  Wiseman  as  the  head  of  the  new  Hierar- 
chy. Every  one  will  remember  how  that  attempt 
was  received.  From  one  end  of  England  to  the 
other,  one  unanimous  voice  arose,  "  We  will  have 
nothing  to  do  with  Rome !  "  One  of  the  largest 
meetings  ever  held  at  Brighton  came  together  on 
this  occasion  to  protest  against  this  impertinent 
intrusion.  All  sects,  all  classes,  met  here  on  com- 
mon ground — a  stern  determination  that,  what- 
ever foreign  despots  might  succeed  in  imposing 
on  their  peoples,  Englishmen  were  determined 
never  again  to  wear  the  yoke  of  priestly  tyranny, 
least  of  all,  the  tyranny  of  Rome.  It  will  be  ob- 
served that  the  ground  Mr.  Robertson  took  was 
somewhat  broader  than  that  generally  occupied. 
He  rested  his  opposition  to  the  Pope's  decree  on 
the  inalienable  rights  of  the  individual  conscience, 
in  virtue  of  which  it  was  not  competent  for  any 
priest,  or  church,  to  dictate  to  men  the  terms  of 
their  belief. 

Probably  the  controversy  with  Popery  would  be 


PREFACE.  xxxi 

more  effectual,  and  more  practical  in  its  results, 
if  the  opinions  which  Mr.  Robertson  avowed  were 
taken  as  the  basis  on  which  it  should  be  con- 
ducted. 

In  former  years,  Mr.  Robertson  had  delivered 
a  Lecture  at  Cheltenham,  on  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land's Independence  of  the  Church  of  Rome ;  but 
it  is  omitted  from  this  volume,  because  Mr.  Rob- 
ertson frequently  expressed  a  very  strong  wish 
against  its  being  reprinted,  observing  that  his 
argument  against  the  Church  of  Rome  would 
now  be  based  on  altogether  different  grounds  from 
those  he  had  taken  in  that  Lecture.  Whatever 
weight  may  be  attached  to  the  critical  rendering 
of  certain  texts — whatever  authority  may  be 
claimed  in  virtue  of  certain  canons  or  decrees  of 
councils — the  great  principle  that  the  conscience 
of  each  individual  man  is  free  to  judge  the  Right, 
and  to  act  in  conformity  with  that  judgment, 
without  any  interference  or  hinderance  from  any 
man  or  set  of  men — will  be  found  to  oppose  a 
firmer  barrier  than  these  to  Romish  progress. 
The  spread  of  Romish  doctrine  is  simply  impos- 
sible where  this  great  principle  of  spiritual  freedom 
is  believed  and  obeyed. 

It  is  very  noteworthy,  that  nearly  all  these 
public  efforts  of  Mr.  Robertson  were  in  behalf  of 
those  engaged  in  labour.     He  had  a  high  idea  of 


xxxn  PREFACE. 

Work,  regarding  it  as  God's  appointment  for 
every  man ;  and  while  he  always  avowed  his  be- 
lief that  the  men  of  thought  were  labourers,  as 
much  as  the  men  of  action,  he  never  lost  an  op- 
portunity of  urging  on  his  hearers  that  a  mere 
life  of  pleasure  or  of  fashion — the  life  of  busy 
idleness — was  little  better  than  living  death. 
Some  of  his  noblest  utterances  were  those  in 
which  he  sought  to  rouse  men  up  to  doing  some- 
thing better  worthy  of  the  vocation  by  which  they 
were  called.  His  own  life  was  one  long  labour, 
of  which,  while  others  were  marvelling  at  the 
wonderful  gifts  and  graces  it  displayed,  his  own 
thought  ever  seemed  to  be  "  not  as  though  I  had 
attained."  How  little  he  esteemed  the  gifts  which 
others  valued  so  highly  in  him,  may  be  gathered 
from  a  passage  in  a  letter  to  a  friend,  written  to- 
wards the  end  of  his  career.     He  says — 

"  If  you  knew  how  sick  at  heart  I  am  with  the  whole  work 
of  ' parle-ment,'  '  talkee,' '  palaver,'  or  whatever  it  is  called — 
how  lightly  I  hold  the  '  gift  of  the  gab ' — how  grand  and  divine 
the  Realm  of  Silence  appears  to  me  in  comparison — how 
humiliated  and  degraded  to  the  dust  I  have  felt,  in  perceiving 
myself  quietly  taken  by  gods  and  men  for  the  popular  preacher 
of  a  fashionable  watering-place — how  slight  the  power  seems 
to  me  to  be  given  by  it  of  winning  souls — and  how  sternly  I 
have  kept  my  tongue  from  saying  a  syllable  or  a  sentence,  in 
pulpit  or  on  platform,  because  it  would  be  popular  "... 

When  many  of  the  clergy  and  richer  classes 


PREFACE.  xxxiii 

were  looking  suspiciously  at  the  growing  intelli- 
gence of  working  men,  and  connecting  it  with 
revolutionary  events  then  going  on  in  Europe,  Mr. 
Robertson  threw  himself  boldly  into  their  cause, 
and  avowed  his  belief  that  they  had  rights  which, 
if  trampled  on,  it  was  at  the  peril  of  the  social 
fabric ;  that  they  had  wrongs  which  it  were  well 
for  England  if  she  recognized  and  set  herself 
steadily  to  remedy.  In  public  and  private  he  ever 
sought  to  bring  classes  together. 

His  pulpit  ministrations  were  chiefly  addressed 
to  the  richer  classes  of  society,  and  he  never  failed 
to  warn  them,  with  a  stern  yet  loving  faithful- 
ness, respecting  the  special  responsibilities  and 
temptations  to  which  they  were  exposed.  Most 
unflinchingly  did  he  seek  to  impress  upon  them 
the  duties  they  owed  to  those  below  them  in  the 
social  scale ;  *  while,  in  speaking  to  labouring 
men,  he  as  faithfully  told  them  that  one  great 
cause  why  they  were  depressed  and  degraded  was 
to  be  found  in  themselves;  that  when  they  could 
exercise  self-denial,  temperance,  steadfastness  in 
self-improvement,  it  would  be  simply  impossible 
for  any  one  to  keep  them  down.  He  told  them, 
too,  that  in  obtaining  the  mastery  over  self,  they 
were  attaining  in  God's  kingdom  a  rank  and  a 

*  See  "  The  Church's  Message  to  Men  of  Wealth; "  published  in  the 
First  Series  of  his  Sermons. 


xxxiv  PREFACE. 

nobility  greater  than  any  mere  earthly  title  could 
confer.  And  both  classes  responded  to  his  earn- 
est zeal  for  their  welfare,  with  a  genuine  love, 
which  is  very  touching,  very  refreshing,  in  a  day  of 
conventional  flattery  and  mutual  self-laudation. 
Amongst  many  illustrations  of  the  feelings  of  the 
Working  Classes  towards  him  may  be  mentioned 
this  one.  A  pair  of  candlesticks  was  sent  to  him, 
accompanied  by  a  letter,  of  which  the  following 
is  a  copy  : — 

"  Sir, — A  humble  individual,  desirous  of  acknowledging  the 
unflinching  kindness  you  have  shown  towards  the  working 
classes  of  this  town,  begs  the  acceptance  of  the  enclosed  ; 
and,  in  doing  so,  he  hopes  you  will  pardon  what  I  am  afraid 
you  will  think  an  un-English  way  of  sending  a  note  without 
a  name.  My  apology  must  be,  that  as  you  do  not  know  me, 
you  will  not  put  any  wrong  construction  as  to  my  motive  in 
doing  so. 

"  Nothing  but  the  profoundest  respect  would  have  induced 
me  to  take  the  liberty  I  have. 

"  Believing  you  to  be  a  man  as  well  as  a  gentleman,  that  you 
can  come  down  to  the  level  of  working  men,  and  understand 
them  (a  rare  qualification  now-a-days  in  one  in  the  class  that 
circumstances  has  placed  you),  all  working  men  think  it  so 
much  the  more  valuable  to  have  your  advice  and  assistance. 
May  it  long  be  continued. 

"  I  do  not  complain  that  we  have  not  the  sympathy  of  the 
upper  classes.  I  believe  we  have ;  but  there  is  not  one  in  fifty 
that  can  come  down  to  our  circumstances,  to  the  bond  of  our 
common  nature,  to  comprehend  that,  although  the  mechanic 


PREFACE.  xxxv 

and  artisan  of  this  country  are  deep  thinkers,  yet  they  often 
stand  in  need  of  advice,  and  the  assistance  that  education  gives. 
We  have  their  good  wishes  and  pecuniary  assistance — thanks 
for  it,  but  sometimes  a  little  kindly  advice  would  do  far  more. 
It  is  this  difference  that  makes  us  feel  we  could  grasp  you  by 
the  hand  as  a  brother  in  the  cause  of  progress  of  the  nation. 
Would  that  there  were  more  such.  How  much  more  would 
true  religion,  morals,  and  sound  intellect  be  brought  out.  No 
fear  then  of  the  pope  or  the  devil.  Believe  me,  sir,  I  am  very 
respectfully  yours." 


Referring  to  this  letter,  of  which  he  never 
knew  the  writer,  Mr.  Robertson  writes  to  Lady 
Henley  : — 

"  You  are  quite  welcome  to  copy  that  note ;  it  does  more 
honour  to  the  writer  than  to  the  receiver;  but  except  in  cases 
where  you  can  trust  discretion,  it  would  be  better  not  to  give 
my  name.  Ninety-nine  out  of  a  hundred  would  put  my  show- 
ing it  you  down  to  the  score  of  vanity.  You  can  show  it,  if 
you  like,  as  a  proof  of  the  good  and  generous  feeling  sometimes 
found  in  lower  life ;  but  as  there  are  many  who  hate  me  as  a 
heretic,  pray  do  not  let  them  have  a  handle." 

It  will  not  surprise  any  one  who  knows  human 
nature,  to  hear  that,  while  to  many  people  Mr. 
Robertson's  teaching  came  like  light  in  a  dark 
place,  to  some  it  seemed  revolutionary  in  politics, 
and  heretical  in  creed. 

Some  influential  persons  spoke  strongly  against 
his  teaching  and  his  influence — it  is  believed  with 


xxsvi  PREFACE. 

but  very  little  personal  knowledge  of  either ;  one 
went  so  far  as  to  warn  an  attendant  on  the  after- 
noon service  at  Trinity  Chapel  that  if  that  attend- 
ance should  be  continued,  the  light  of  his  counte- 
nance would  be  withdrawn ;  and  this  threat,  which 
would  have  been  disregarded  so  far  as  personal 
consequences  were  to  be  feared,  became  operative 
when  the  consideration  of  the  consequences  of 
such  withdrawal  to  dear  relatives  was  pressed  and 
considered. 

Some  persons  talked  of  "  Neology ; "  and  an 
active  platform  orator,  well  known  at  Exeter  Hall, 
was  brought  down  to  deliver  two  lectures  on 
"  Neologianism."  It  was  well  understood  by  Mr. 
Robertson's  congregation,  that  it  was  as  a  protest 
against  their  pastor  that  this  was  done.  There 
are  those  who  still  remember  the  extreme  perplex- 
ity of  some  excellent  people  who,  recognizing  in 
the  names  advertised  to  attend  the  meeting  those 
clergymen  whom  they  had  been  accustomed  al- 
ways to  feel  quite  safe  and  comfortable  in  sitting 
under,  were  notwithstanding  much  confused  by 
the  new  word,  and  anxiously  inquired  what  the 
lecture  was  about.  Was  it  a  religious  meeting  ? 
or  a  scientific  meeting  ?  or  what  was  it  ? 

Well,  the  lectures  were  delivered,  and  it  is  no 
disparagement  to  the  zeal  of  the  reverend  orator  to 
say  that  Trinity  Chapel  continued  just  as  full,  and 


PREFACE.  xxxvii 

Mr.  Robertson's  influence  just  as  great,  as  before 
these  gratuitous  lectures  on  "  Neologianism." 

It  is  gratifying  to  be  able  to  record  that  he 
against  whom  these  and  other  similar  demonstra- 
tions  were  made — some,  by  the  way,  not  quite 
so  manly  and  open  as  this — was  in  no  way  dis- 
turbed nor  annoyed  by  them.  Never  did  an  angry 
word  pass  his  lips  respecting  any  of  those  whom 
he  knew  were  branding  him  as  a  heretic — who 
were  trying,  as  far  as  they  could,  to  hinder  his 
ministry,  or  discredit  him  in  the  so-called  religious 
world. 

Towards  the  close  of  his  ministry,  it  became 
evident  that  the  only  chance  of  his  restoration 
to  health  was  by  having  rest,  and  his  congrega- 
tion raised  a  fund  for  the  payment  of  a  curate; 
of  course  leaving  the  selection  of  the  curate  to 
Mr.  Robertson.  In  a  letter  written  at  this  time 
he  says  : — 

"  One  inducement  towards  accepting  their  offer  is,  that  it 
would  enable  me  to  take  a  district,  and  try  to  work  it,  with  a 
view  to  physical,  as  well  as  spiritual,  improvement  of  the  poor ; 
acknowledging  Christ  as  the  'Saviour  of  the  body;'  a  truth 
ingeniously  ignored." 

And  writing  on  the  same  subject  a  little  later, 
he  says : — 

"  I  am  anxious,  on  my  own  account,  for  assistance,  in  order 
4 


xxxvm  PEEFACE. 

to  enable  me  to  devote  myself  less  exclusively  to  pulpit  work, 
and  to  become  more  pastoral." 

No.  curate  came,  however,  to  Trinity  Chapel. 
It  is  not  proposed  in  this  place  to  enter  on  the 
question  how  it  was  that  the  plan  was  frustrated, 
— a  more  fitting  occasion  will  present  itself. 

Mr.  Robertson  felt  this  acutely,  and  says  of  it, 
in  writing  to  a  friend, — 

"I  am  deeply  disappointed ;  I  have  looked  forward  to 
friendly  cooperation  and  leisure  for  pastoral  work.  Lis  aliter 
visum:  an  old  heathen  adage  to  be  translated  silently  into 
Christian  phraseology ;  but  right  enough,  and  pious  in  feeling." 

Those  who  were  with  Mr.  Robertson  at  this  time, 
remember  well  the  utter  self-forgetfulness  which 
characterized  his  words  and  actions  in  relation  to 
this  disappointment.  Three  months  afterwards, 
Mr.  Robertson  was  carried  to  his  grave;  with 
such  marks  of  respect,  and  reverence,  and  love, 
as  perhaps  never  before  accompanied  a  public 
funeral. 

The  family  intended  the  funeral  to  have  been 
strictly  private ;  but  when  vast  numbers  signified 
their  intention  of  accompanying  his  mortal  re- 
mains to  their  last  resting-place,  it  became  evident 
that  it  would  really  be  a  demonstration  of  general 
mourning.  The  shops  were  closed,  the  houses 
shut  up,  and  the  presence  of  sorrowing  thousands 


PEEFACE.  xxxix 

told  more  eloquently  than  words  could  do,  what 
grief  was  felt  at  the  loss  Brighton  had  sustained. 
Foremost  in  this  genuine  expression  of  feeling 
were  the  working  men  of  the  town — the  men 
he  was  proud  to  call  "  My  friends — the  working 
classes." 

November  15,  1858. 


TWO  ADDEESSES. 


LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES. 


An  Address  delivered  at  the  Opening  of  the 
Working  Men's  Institute*  on  Monday,  October 
23, 1848. 

Brother  Men  and  Fellow   Townsmen, 

I  owe  it  to  you  and  I  owe  it  to  myself  to 
give  some  explanation  of  my  being  here  to-night 
to  deliver  an  opening  address  to  the  Working 
Men's  Institute.  I  owe  it  to  you,  or  rather,  to 
some  of  you,  since  it  is  only  a  few  weeks  ago 
that,  on  the  plea  of  ill  health,  I  professed  myself 
unable  to  deliver  a  lecture  to  the  Brighton  Athe- 

*  A  third  edition  of  this  Pamphlet  having  been  called  for, 
I  have  sent  it  to  the  press  unaltered ;  for  though  the  Working 
Men's  Institute,  owing  to  certain  errors  in  the  details  of  its 
organization,  has  for  the  present  ended  in  partial  failure,  yet 
the  very  circumstances  of  its  history  have  only  confirmed  me 
more  than  ever  in  the  principles  which  it  was  attempted  to 
express  in  the  following  pages. — F.  W.  R.,  Oct.  1850. 


2  LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES 

nasum.  Almost  immediately  after  that  I  accepted 
your  invitation,  in  which  there  is  an  apparent 
inconsistency.  I  owe  it  to  myself,  because  there 
will  lie  against  me  in  the  judgment  of  many  a 
charge  of  presumption.  I  have  been  in  this  town 
but  a  single  year.  I  am  but  a  stranger  here. 
For  one  without  name,  without  influence,  without 
authority,  without  talent,  to  occupy  a  position 
so  prominent  as  that  which  I  occupy  to-night, 
would  really  seem  to  justify  a  suspicion  of  some- 
thing like  vanity  and  assumption. 

My  reasons  for  undertaking  this  office  are 
these :  I  did  it  partly  on  personal  grounds.  It 
would  be  affectation  to  deny  that  the  spontaneous 
request  of  a  body  of  men,  delegated  by  a  thousand 
of  my  fellow  townsmen,  is  a  source  of  very  great 
satisfaction.  It  gave  me  great  pleasure,  at  the 
same  time  that  it  deeply  humbled  me.  I  ear- 
nestly wish  I  were  more  worthy  of  the  confidence 
reposed  in  me.  My  second  reason  for  standing 
before  you  to-night  is  a  public  one.  It  seems  to 
me  a  significant  circumstance  that  your  request 
was  made  to  a  clergyman  of  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land. A  minister  of  the  Church  of  England 
occupies  a  very  peculiar  position.  He  stands, 
generally  by  birth,  always  by  position,  between 
the  higher  and  lower  ranks.  He  has  free  access 
to  the  mansion  of  the  noble,  and  welcome  in  the 


BY  REV.  F.   W.  ROBERTSON.  3 

cottage  of  the  labourer.  And  if  I  understand 
aright  the  mission  of  a  minister  of  the  Church  of 
England,  his  peculiar  and  sacred  call  is,  to  stand 
as  a  link  of  union  between  the  two  extremes  of 
society ;  to  demand  of  the  highest  in  this  land, 
with  all  respect  but  yet  firmly,  the  performance 
of  their  duty  to  those  beneath  them ;  to  soften 
down  the  asperities  and  to  soothe  the  burning 
jealousies  which  are  too  often  found  rankling  in 
the  minds  of  those  who,  from  a  position  full  of 
wretchedness,  look  up  with  almost  excusable  bit- 
terness on  such  as  are  surrounded  with  earthly 
comforts. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  such  an  opportunity  was 
offered  me  to-night.  The  delivery  of  a  lecture  to 
the  Brighton  Athenaeum  on  a  literary  subject  was 
a  secular  duty,  and  one  from  which  I  felt  I  might 
fairly  shrink  on  the  valid  plea  of  ill  health ;  but 
the  demand  that  you  made  upon  me  for  this  even- 
ing, though  I  urged  it  upon  you  that  you  had  not 
selected  the  right  man,  was  a  sacred  duty,  which 
I  felt  it  was  impossible  for  me,  on  any  merely 
personal  grounds,  to  refuse.  And  if  your  call  on 
a  minister  of  the  Church  of  England  this  evening 
may  be  taken  as  any  exhibition  of  trust  in  the 
sympathy  of  those  classes  between  whom  and 
yourselves  he  stands  as  a  kind  of  link, — if  my 
acceptance  of  the  call  may  be  regarded  as  evinc- 


4  LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES 

ing  a  pledge  of  their  sympathy  towards  you, — 
then,  though  all  I  say  to-night  may  be  weak  and 
worthless,  I  shall  not  feel  that  I  have  spoken  to 
you  in  vain,  and  to  myself  at  least  I  shall  stand 
acquitted  of  the  charge  of  presumption. 

T  began  to  address  you  to-night  by  the  name 
of  brother  men  ;  I  did  not  adopt  the  expression 
which  my  friend  Mr.  Holtham  used  in  reference 
to  your  Committee.  Yet,  after  all,  we  are  at  one. 
He  did  not  mean  to  say  that  you  are  "  gentle- 
men." He  meant  to  say  that  you  have,  and  that 
there  was  no  reason  why  you  should  not  have, 
the  feelings  of  gentlemen.  To  say  that  a  man  is 
noble,  does  not  mean  that  he  is  a  nobleman.  I 
do  not  call  you  gentlemen,  because  I  respect  you 
too  much  to  call  you  what  you  are  not.  You 
are  not  gentlemen.  To  address  an  assembly  of 
gentlemen  by  the  title  of  "  my  lords,"  would  be 
to  insult  them;  and  to  address  working  men  as 
"  gentlemen,"  would  be  felt  by  you  as  an  insult 
to  your  understanding. 

The  people  of  this  country  stand  in  danger 
from  two  classes ;  from  those  who  fear  them,  and 
from  those  who  flatter  them.  From  those  who 
fear  them  and  would  keep  down  their  aspiring 
intelligence,  they  have  no  longer  much  to  fear. 
The  time  is  past  for  that ;  that  cry  of  a  wretched, 
narrow  bigotry  is  almost  unheard  of  now.     But 


BY  REV.  F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  5 

just  in  proportion  as  that  danger  has  passed 
away,  has  the  other  danger  increased,  the  danger 
from  those  who  flatter  them.  From  the  platform 
and  the  press  we  now  hear  language  of  fulsome 
adulation,  that  ought  to  disgust  the  working  men 
of  this  country.  There  has  ever  been,  and  ever 
will  be  found  sycophancy  on  the  side  of  power. 

In  former  ages  when  power  was  on  the  side  of 
the  few,  the  flatterer  was  found  in  kings'  houses. 
The  balance  of  power  is  changed.  It  is  now 
not  in  the  hands  of  the  few,  but  in  the  hands  of 
the  many.  I  say  not  that  that  is  the  best  state 
conceivable ;  there  might  be  a  better  than  that. 
We  would  rather  have  power  neither  in  the  hands 
of  the  privileged  few  nor  in  the  hands  of  the  priv- 
ileged many,  but  in  the  hands  of  the  wisest  and 
best.  But  this  is  the  present  fact,  and  every  day 
is  carrying  the  tide  of  power  more  strongly  into 
the  hands  of  the  numbers;  for  which  reason  there 
will  be  ever  found  flatterers  on  the  side  of  *  the 
many. 

Now,  whether  a  man  flatters  the  many  or  the 
few,  the  flatterer  is  a  despicable  character.  It 
matters  not  in  what  age  he  appears ;  change  the 
century,  you  do  not  change  the  man.  He  who 
fawned  upon  the  prince  or  upon  the  duke,  had 
something  of  the  reptile  in  his  character ;  but  he 
who  fawns  upon  the  masses  in  their  day  of  power 


6  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

is  only  a  reptile  which  has  changed  the  direction 
of  its  crawling.  He  who  in  this  nineteenth  cen- 
tury echoes  the  cry  that  the  voice  of  the  people 
is  the  voice  of  God,  is  just  the  man  who,  if  he 
had  been  born  two  thousand  years  ago,  would 
have  been  the  loudest  and  hoarsest  in  that  cring- 
ing crowd  of  slaves  who  bowed  before  a  prince 
invested  with  the  delegated  majesty  of  Rome, 
and  cried,  "  It  is  the  voice  of  a  God,  and  not  of 
a  man."  The  man  who  can  see  no  other  source 
of  law  than  the  will  of  a  majority,  who  can  feel 
no  everlasting  law  of  right  and  wrong,  which 
gives  to  all  human  laws  their  sanction  and  their 
meaning,  and  by  which  all  laws,  whether  they 
express  the  will  of  many  or  of  the  few,  must  be 
tried — who  does  not  feel  that  he,  single  and  un- 
supported, is  called  upon  by  a  mighty  voice  with- 
in him  to  resist  every  thing  which  comes  to  him 
claiming  his  allegiance  as  the  expression  of  mere 
will,  is  exactly  the  man  who,  if  he  had  lived  seven 
centuries  ago,  would  have  stood  on  the  sea  sands 
beside  the  royal  Dane,  and  tried  to  make  him 
believe  that  his  will  gave  law  to  the  everlasting 
flood.  For  this  reason  I  have  not  used  this  ex- 
pression. I  have  not  used  it,  because  I  would 
not  flatter  you  even  by  an  epithet.  I  respect  you 
too  much  to  flatter  you.  I  used  another  title  of 
address.     For  there  are  two  bases  of  union  on 


BY   REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  7 

which  men  may  be  bound  together.  One  is  sim- 
ilarity of  class,  the  other  is  identity  of  nature. 
The  class  feeling  is  a  feeble  bond ;  for  he  who 
feels  awe  for  another  man  because  he  is  in  a  rank 
above  him,  will  cease  to  feel  that  awe  if  ever  the 
man  should  cease  to  belong  to  that  class.  The 
pauperized  aristocrat  and  the  decayed  merchant 
are  soon  neglected  by  their  class.  The  man  who 
respects  another  because  he  is  in  the  same  rank 
as  himself,  may  cease  to  feel  respect  in  one  of 
two  ways, — either  by  his  own  elevation,  in  which 
case  he  tries  to  keep  the  distinction  broad  be- 
tween himself  and  the  class  that  he  has  left,  or 
else  by  the  depression  of  that  other  man,  through 
any  misfortune. 

Now,  there  is  another  and  a  broader  bond  of 
union  to  be  found  in  identity  of  nature.  When 
all  external  differences  have  passed  away,  one 
element  remains  intact,  unchanged,  the  everlast- 
ing basis  of  our  common  nature, — the  human 
soul  by  which  we  live.  "  We  all  are  changed 
by  slow  degrees.  All  but  the  basis  of  the  soul." 
Our  tendencies  to  evil,  our  capacities  of  excel- 
lence are  the  same  in  all  classes.  It  is  just  in 
proportion  as  men  recognize  this  real,  original 
identity  of  all  human  nature,  that  it  is  possible 
on  this  earth  to  attain  the  realization  of  human 
brotherhood.     It  is  the  only  possible  ground  of 

5 


8  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

union  for  the  race.  It  was  because  this  was  not 
felt  by  the  Jews  of  ancient  times  that  they  held 
themselves  and  their  race  proudly  distinct  from 
their  Gentile  brothers,  and  by  that  bigotry  worked 
out  their  own  inevitable  downfall.  The  Christian 
of  the  middle  ages  tortured  his  Jew  brother  jnst 
because  he  did  not  recognize  the  same  identity  of 
sentiment  and  moral  nature,  which  the  great  poet 
of  our  country  has  put  so  passionately  and  so 
touchingly  into  the  lips  of  Shylock.  "  Hath  not 
a  Jew  eyes  ?  hath  not  a  Jew  hands,  organs,  di- 
mensions, senses,  affections,  passions?  fed  with 
the  same  food,  hurt  with  the  same  weapons,  sub- 
ject to  the  same  diseases,  healed  by  the  same 
means,  warmed  and  cooled  by  the  same  winter 
and  summer  as  a  Christian  ?"  Had  the  feudal 
lord  believed  this  he  would  not  have  put  an  iron 
collar  round  his  serf's  neck,  nor  made  one  law  for 
the  serf  and  another  for  the  free-born.  In  our 
own  times,  if  men  who  have  been  crying  for  the 
rights  of  our  common  humanity  and  the  duties  of 
our  common  brotherhood  had  understood  the  deep 
glorious  meaning  of  their  own  cry,  we  should  have 
heard  nothing  of  those  human  tortures  and  that 
infernal  cannibalism  which  have  disgraced  the 
cause  of  freedom.  Get  this  deeply  by  heart,  and 
all  that  is  galling  in  artificial  distinctions  will  pass 
away.     Well  do  I  know  that  this  language  I  am 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBEKTSON.  9 

using  now  respecting  brotherhood  and  the  equal- 
ity of  our  human  nature,  is  language  that  passes 
into  cant.  It  has  been  defiled  by  cruelty ;  it  has 
been  polluted  by  selfishness ;  but  we  will  not  be 
ashamed  of  it  for  all  that.  In  an  age  in  which  it 
has  become  suspicious,  we  will  dare  to  believe  in 
it  and  love  it.  It  is  buried  deep  in  the  eternal 
truth  of  things.  That  truth  can  no  more  pass 
away  from  the  things  that  are,  than  heaven  and 
earth  can  pass  away.  Sooner  or  later  it  must  be 
realized  in  a  more  substantial  form  that  it  has  yet 
ever  assumed.  All  gradual  improvements,  all  vio- 
lent convulsions  in  the  world  are  only  doing  then- 
part  in  bringing  this  about.  The  thunder  storm 
is  terrible  to  look  upon  ;  but  it  leaves  behind  it  a 
purer  air  and  a  serener  sky.  Let  us  hear  the  Ayr- 
shire ploughman  in  his  high  prophetic  strain : — 

"  For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 
It's  coming  yet  for  a'  that, 
That  man  to  man  the  world  o'er 
Shall  brothers  be  for  a'  that" 

Therefore  it  is  that  passing  by  all  those  abortive 
attempts  which  would  fain  produce  a  feeling  of 
union  by  the  false  idea  of  similarity  of  class,  I  have 
fastened  my  attention  on  the  real  equality  of  our 
common  nature,  and  called  you  "  brother  men." 

In  my  address  to-night,  I  propose  to  let  its  top- 
ics be  suggested  by  the  expressions  of  your  own 


10  LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES 

sentiments  contained  in  the  paper  which  your 
Committee  put  into  my  hand.  That  paper  speci- 
fies the  objects  of  your  institution,  and  the  spirit 
in  which  it  has  been  established. 

The  objects  of  the  Institution  are  two :  it  is  in- 
tended to  provide  the  working  men  of  this  town 
with  the  means  of  mental,  and  besides  that,  with 
the  means  of  moral,  improvement.  Farther  down 
I  find  mental  improvement  separated  by  you  into 
two  divisions.  Mental  improvement,  you  say,  is 
the  information  of  the  intellect,  and  the  elevation 
of  the  taste.  You  wish  to  inform  the  intellect. 
I  confine  myself  to-night  to  one  branch  of  this 
improvement,  political  information.  I  do  it  for 
several  reasons.  First  of  all,  the  means  of  acquir- 
ing knowledge  which  your  Institution  places  in 
your  hands  are  in  a  very  preponderating  degree 
of  a  political  character.  By  works  of  history  and 
the  newspapers  of  the  day,  you  will  have  that 
which  will  inform  you  of  the  constitution  of  your 
country. 

My  second  reason  for  dwelling  chiefly  upon 
this  branch  of  mental  improvement  is?  that  politi- 
cal science  is  the  highest  education  that  can  be 
given  to  the  human  mind.  Let  me  explain  my- 
self. When  we  in  popular  phraseology  speak  of 
politics,  we  ascribe  to  that  word  a  narrow  mean- 
ing.    When  we  say  that  two  men   are  talking 


BY  REV.   F.   W.  ROBERTSON.  11 

politics,  we  often  mean  that  they  are  wrangling 
about  some  mere  party  question.  When  I  use 
the  term  "  politics  "  this  evening,  I  use  it  in  the 
sense  in  which  it  was  used  by  all  the  great  and 
noble  authors  of  the  ancient  world,  who  meant 
by  the  science  of  politics  the  intelligent  compre- 
hension of  a  man's  position  and  relations  as  a 
member  of  a  great  nation.  You  will  observe  that 
in  this  sense  politics  subordinate  to  themselves 
every  department  of  earthly  science.  A  man  who 
understands  nothing  of  agriculture,  nothing  of 
trade,  nothing  of  human  nature,  nothing  of  past 
history,  nothing  of  the  principles  of  law,  cannot 
pretend  to  be  more  than  a  mere  empiric  in  politi- 
cal legislation.  Every  thing  that  man  can  know 
is  subservient  to  this  noble  science.  Understood 
in  this  sense,  the  working  men  of  this  country 
have  an  interest  in  politics.  For,  in  the  first  place, 
political  ignorance  is  not  a  safe  thing  for  this  or 
any  other  country.  The  past  is  a  proof  of  that. 
What  was  it  but  political  ignorance  which  dic- 
tated a  few  years  ago  the  letters  signed  "  Swing," 
when  the  labouring  men  burned  the  hay  rick  and 
the  corn  stack  in  the  wise  expectation  of  better- 
ing their  own  condition  by  that  ? 

It  needed  very  little  political  economy  to  teach 
them  that  all  the  wages  in  the  world  would  not 
make  a  country  rich,  when  its  real  resources  are 

5* 


12  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

destroyed ;  that  gold  is  but  the  symbol  of  another 
and  a  more  real  wealth  for  which  it  stands  as  the 
convenient  expression  ;  that  the  increase  of  their 
money  would  not  give  any  increase  in  their  com- 
forts ;  and  that  when  the  country's  means  of  sub- 
sistence are  diminished  all  the  coin  in  the  country 
could  not  enrich  them.  What  was  it  but  political 
ignorance  that  suggested  the  workman's  strike  for 
wages  ?  A  very  little  political  information  would 
have  told  him  that  it  is  to  a  small  extent  that  the 
master  can  regulate  the  wages  he  gives,  that  they 
depend  on  many  things  over  which  he  has  no 
control,  as  for  instance,  on  the  supply  of  labour  in 
the  market  and  on  the  demand  for  the  commodity. 
Besides  this,  if  there  be  a  man  in  the  country  to 
whom  politics  are  of  personal  consequence,  it  is 
the  labouring  man.  A  man  in  the  higher  classes 
may  turn  his  attention  to  them,  if  he  likes  ;  noth- 
ing forces  him  to  do  so.  It  is  to  him  a  matter  of 
amusement,  a  speculation — a  theoretical  curiosity 
—not  necessarily  any  thing  more.  The  difference 
of  a  penny  in  the  price  of  a  loaf  makes  no  per- 
ceptible change  on  his  table ;  but  it  may  make 
the  poor  man's  grate  empty  for  a  fortnight.  If 
an  unfair  tax  be  imposed,  a  man  in  the  upper 
ranks  will  scarcely  be  compelled  to  retrench  a  lux- 
ury in  his  establishment  ;  but  to  the  poor  man  it 
is  almost  a  matter  of  life  and  death.     Therefore  a 


BY  REV.   F.  W.   ROBERTSON.  13 

labouring  man  will  be,  must  be  a  politician ;  he 
cannot  help  it;  and  the  only  question  is,  whether 
he  shall  be  an  informed  one  or  an  uninformed  one. 
To  him  politics  are  a  thing  of  daily  feeling ;  but 
the  man  who  feels  a  wrong  most  severely  is  not 
generally  the  man  who  is  in  the  best  state  for 
calmly  ascertaining  the  causes  of  the  wrong.  The 
child  which  feels  the  pin  that  pricks,  knows  better 
than  any  one  can  tell  it  that  there  is  something 
wrong ;  but  it  is  not  exactly  the  one  to  judge 
when  it  strikes  at  random,  whether  it  be  the 
nurse's  fault  or  the  fault  of  circumstances.  The 
uneducated  man  is  precisely  in  the  same  position  ; 
he  feels  politically  the  sharpness  and  the  torture 
of  his  position ;  but  he  is  just  as  likely  in  his  ex- 
asperation to  raise  his  hand  against  an  innocent 
government  as  against  a  guilty  one.  Therefore 
it  was  that  in  past  times,  when  a  pestilence 
came,  the  poorer  classes,  believing  that  it  was 
caused  by  the  medical  men  of  the  country  for 
their  own  benefit,  visited  their  fury  upon  them. 
They  felt  keenly,  they  struck  wrongly.  Tell  us, 
then,  whether  it  be  safe  and  whether  it  be  wise 
that  the  poor  man,  or  that  any  class,  should  be 
profoundly  ignorant  of  politics  ? 

There  is  another  reason,  one  more  important 
still,  for  extending  political  knowledge.  In  this 
free  country  the   labouring   man    has    already  a 


14  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

political  responsibility.  By  degrees  he  will  have, 
and  ought  to  have,  more.  There  is  scarcely  a 
man  standing  before  me  who  has  not  something 
to  do  with  the  political  government  of  his  coun- 
try. It  may  be  that  he  has  a  vote  in  the  vestry ; 
or  he  is  liable  to  be  called  on  to  serve  on  the  jury, 
where  he  disposes  of  the  life  and  liberty  of  his 
fellow-subjects  ;  or  perhaps  he  has  a  vote  in  the 
election  of  a  member  of  parliament.  The  pos- 
session of  that  vote  gives  to  the  working  man  a 
solemn  responsibility.  Let  us  not  be  told  that 
the  injury  done  by  a  wrong  vote  is  small ;  it  is 
not  so  that  we  measure  responsibility.  If  there 
be  a  million  voters,  and  a  man  votes  corruptly,  it 
is  true,  it  is  but  the  millionth  part  of  the  injury 
which  may  arise  from  a  bad  law  that  is  attributa- 
ble to  him ;  but  responsibility  is  measured  not  by 
the  amount  of  injury  which  results,  but  by  the 
measure  of  distinctness  with  which  the  conscience 
has  the  opportunity  of  distinguishing  between 
right  and  wrong.  That  man  is  not  worthy  of  a 
vote  in  this  country  who  gives  his  vote  to  the 
temptation  of  a  bribe ;  neither  is  he  worthy  who 
bribes  a  man  to  vote  against  his  conscience. 
That  man  is  not  worthy  of  a  vote  who  intimi- 
dates another  ;  nor  is  he  worthy  who  suffers  him- 
self to  be  intimidated.  That  man  misuses  his 
privilege  who  corrupts  by  exclusive  dealing;  so 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  15 

does  he  who  votes  solely  from  self  or  class  inter- 
est. For  example,  if  the  agriculturist  voted  for 
the  retention  of  the  corn  laws  because  they  en- 
hanced the  price  of  his  corn,  though  he  believed 
it  would  be  to  the  injury  of  the  rest  of  the  com- 
munity, that  man  was  not  worthy  of  a  vote.  On 
the  other  hand,  if  the  manufacturer  voted  for  the 
abolition  of  the  corn  laws,  because  he  believed  it 
would  be  good  for  the  manufacturing  interest, 
without  considering  how  it  would  bear  on  the 
residue  of  the  nation,  that  man  exercised  his  vote 
wrongly ;  his  vote  was  given  him  for  the  good  of 
the  nation,  and  he  was  sacrificing  the  whole  of 
the  nation  to  a  part  of  it. 

Now  let  me  say  another  thing  without  offence. 
I  scarcely  know  whether  it  is  quite  fair  to  say  it 
on  this  occasion  ;  but  I  feel  perfectly  confident 
that  every  honest  supporter  of  the  People's  Char- 
ter will  not  misunderstand  me.  I  will  not  say 
that  that  man  is  not  worthy  of  a  vote  ;  but  I  will 
say,  and  I  believe  your  feelings  will  only  echo 
mine,  that  that  man  has  not  attained  the  true, 
lofty  spirit  of  a  British  freeman  who  requires  the 
protection  of  secrecy  in  his  voting,  who  dares  not 
risk  the  consequence  of  doing  right,  who  has  not 
manhood  enough,  except  from  behind  the  ballot 
box,  to  do  his  duty  to  his  country  and  his  God. 
Now  to  vote  in  this  way,  to  vote  incorruptibly,  to 


16  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

vote  on  high  motives,  to  vote  on  large  principles, 
to  vote  bravely,  requires  a  great  amount  of  infor- 
mation. How  far  will  the  machinery  of  this  In- 
stitution insure  this  ?  Only  partially.  We  do 
not  expect  it  will  make  the  corrupt  voter  honest ; 
it  will  not  make  the  selfish  voter  liberal;  but  at 
least  it  offers  the  means  of  saving  the  honest 
voter  from  the  consequences  of  his  own  ignorance, 
and  of  rescuing  him  from  being  the  passive  vic- 
tim of  the  demagogue,  or  being  compelled  to 
throw  his  vote  blindly  into  the  hands  of  his  land- 
lord or  his  employer. 

I  pass  to  the  second  division  of  which  you 
speak,  the  elevation  of  the  taste.  Taste  is  per- 
ception of  beauty  ;  to  have  taste  is  to  recognize 
that  which  is  right  and  congruous.  When  we 
speak  of  the  moral  sense,  we  mean  the  power  of 
distinguishing  between  right  and  wrong  ;  when  we 
speak  of  taste,  we  mean  the  faculty  of  distinguish- 
ing that  which  is  fitting  from  that  which  is  unbe- 
coming. There  are  many  things  which  are  nei- 
ther right  nor  wrong,  but  which  are  yet  offensive 
to  good  taste.  It  is  not  morally  wrong  to  sit 
covered  in  the  presence  of  a  superior ;  but  it  is  an 
offence  against  the  propriety  of  manners.  The 
juxtaposition  of  yellow  and  olive  green  is  not  a 
moral  fault ;  but  it  is  a  fault  to  the  eye  which 
perceives  the  harmony  of  colours.     There  is  noth- 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  17 

ing  wicked  in  wearing  a  hat  in  a  sacred  building, 
or  in  discussing  religious  questions  when  the  toast 
and  the  health  are  going  round;  but  there  is  some- 
thing which  is  exceedingly  offensive  to  the  feel- 
ings of  religious  propriety.  The  perception  of  all 
these  harmonious  fitnesses  is  what  we  denomi- 
nate refinement,  in  contradistinction  to  vulgarity. 
But  by  vulgarity  I  do  not  mean  the  infringement 
of  those  laws  which  conventionality  or  fashion 
has  laid  down ;  for  if  fashion  choose  to  decide 
that  a  man  shall  dine  at  seven,  and  he  prefers  in- 
stead to  dine  at  one,  though  this  may  be  a  con- 
ventional, it  is  not  a  real  vulgarism. 

Vulgarity  is  quite  distinct  from  nonconformity 
to  arbitrary  rules.  We  have  sometimes  met  the 
deepest,  truest  refinement  of  heart  in  the  man 
whose  hands  are  black  with  labouring  at  the 
forge ;  we  have  met  the  greatest  real  vulgarity  in 
the  man  whose  manners  wore  a  perfect  outward 
polish,  and  who  would  never  infringe  the  smallest 
rule  of  etiquette.  In  this  sense  do  I  speak  of 
taste  as  a  matter  of  importance  to  the  working 
men  of  this  country.  What  is  it  that ,  prevents 
sympathy  between  class  and  class  ?  Not  merely 
difference  of  opinion,  but  difference  of  taste.-  The 
difference  in  feeling  between  educated  and  uned- 
ucated men  places  a  great  gulf  between  them. 
We  are  attracted  and  repelled  by  our  instinctive 


18  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

sympathies  even  more  than  by  our  intellectual 
views.  Let  no  one  tell  us  that  the  workman  can- 
not become  refined ;  he  is  a  refined  man  in  foreign 
countries.  Vulgarity  is  a  thing  almost  exclusive- 
ly English.  Look  at  the  poor  Hindoo  who  goes 
through  your  streets  asking  alms.  There  is  a 
grace  even  in  his  very  attitude,  an  elegance  in  his 
address,  which  would  almost  make  you  believe  it 
if  you  were  told  that  he  had  been  a  prince  in  his 
own  land.  You  may  see,  or  might  have  seen, 
two  peasants  meeting  on  a  high-road  in  France, 
and  taking  off  their  hats  to  each  other  with  grave 
and  dignified  courtesy.  The  French  peasant  girl 
at  a  very  trifling  expense  will  dress  herself  in 
clothes  that  befit  her  station  ;  but  the  inward  re- 
finement of  her  mind  will  be  so  reflected  on  the 
adjustment  of  every  part  of  them,  that  she  looks 
better  dressed  than  the  English  lady's  maid  with 
all  the  aid  of  her  mistress's  cast-off  finery. 

There  is  another  thing.  The  refinement  of  the 
workman's  mind  is  a  matter  of  importance  in  the 
works  of  art.  Let  any  mercer  place  the  silk  that 
comes  from  Spitalfields  beside  that  which  comes 
from  Lyons,  and  tell  us  if  the  one  in  point  of  ele- 
gance of  design  will  bear  any  comparison  with 
the  other  ?  Let  the  English  watchmaker  place 
his  watch  beside  the  delicate  fabric  of  Geneva, 
or  his  clock  beside  that  which  comes  from  Paris, 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  19 

and  tell  us  whether  it  be  not  rude  and  clumsy  in 
comparison  ?  Let  the  English  china-maker  place 
the  manufactures  of  Worcestershire  and  York- 
shire on  the  same  table  with  those  of  Sevres  or 
of  Dresden,  and  the  superior  beauty  of  the  for- 
eign article  is  visible  at  once.  We  are  beaten 
out  of  the  market  whenever  it  comes  to  a  ques- 
tion of  taste.  The  reason  is  generally  acknowl- 
edged to  be  this, — that  on  the  continent  the  artist 
has  freer  access  to  that  which  is  beautiful  in  taste 
and  art.  In  the  designs  which  adorn  the  Parisian 
clocks,  you  may  trace  the  forms  of  beauty  which 
existed  originally  in  the  minds  of  Raffaelle  and 
Titian,  and  transfused  themselves  upon  the  work 
insensibly  through  every  touch  of  one  whose 
fancy  had  been  inspired  and  kindled  at  the  living 
sources  of  the  beautiful. 

A  few  years  ago  I  was  engaged  in  chamois 
hunting  among  the  crags  and  glaciers  of  the 
Tyrol.  My  companion  was  a  Tyrolese  chamois 
hunter,  a  man,  who  in  point  of  social  position, 
might  rank  with  an  English  labourer.  I  fear 
there  would  be  a  difficulty  in  England  in  making 
such  a  companionship  pleasurable  and  easy  to 
both  parties ;  there  would  be  a  painful  obsequi- 
ousness, or  else  an  insolent  familiarity  on  the  one 
side,  constraint  on  the  other.  In  this  case  there 
was  nothing  of  that  sort.     We  walked  together 


20  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

and  ate  together.  He  had  all  the  independence 
of  a  man,  but  he  knew  the  courtesy  which  was 
due  to  a  stranger ;  and  when  we  parted  for  the 
night,  he  took  his  leave  with  a  politeness  and 
dignity  which  would  have  done  no  discredit  to 
the  most  finished  gentleman.  The  reason,  as  it 
seemed  to  me,  was  that  his  character  had  been 
moulded  by  the  sublimities  of  the  forms  of  the 
outward  nature  amidst  which  he  lived.  It  was 
impossible  to  see  the  clouds  wreathing  themselves 
in  that  strange  wild  way  of  theirs  round  the 
mountain  crests,  till  the  hills  seemed  to  become 
awful  things,  instinct  with  life— it  was  impossible 
to  walk,  as  we  did  sometimes,  an  hour  or  two 
before  sunrise,  and  see  the  morning  beams  gild- 
ing with  their  pure  light  the  grand,  old  peaks  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  valley,  while  we  ourselves 
were  still  in  deepest  shade,  and  look  on  that  man 
with  his  rifle  on  his  shoulder  and  his  curling 
feather  in  his  high  green  hat,  his  very  exterior  in 
harmony  with  all  around  him,  and  his  calm  eye 
resting  on  all  that  wondrous  spectacle,  without 
feeling  that  these  things  had  had  their  part  in 
making  him  what  he  was,  and  that  you  were  in  a 
country  in  which  men  were  bound  to  be  polished, 
bound  to  be  more  refined,  almost  bound  to  be 
better  men  than  elsewhere. 

Mr.  Wordsworth,  one  of  the  great  teachers  of 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  21 

our  nation's  feeling,  has  explained  to  us  in  many 
a  passage  how  all  these  forms  of  God's  outward 
world  of  beauty  are  intended  to  perform  an  office 
in  the  refinement  of  the  heart.  He  has  painted 
his  country  girl  educated  by  the  sky  above  her, 
the  colours  of  the  hills,  the  sound  of  the  water- 
falls— 

"  Till  beauty,  born  of  murmuring  sound, 
Shall  pass  into  her  face." 

Now  there  are  two  things  in  your  Institution 
which  might  educate  taste  of  this  kind :  works  of 
poetry  and  works  of  fiction.  By  poetry,  we  do 
not  mean,  simply,  verse  or  rhyme.  In  a  hundred 
thousand  verses  there  might  be  not  one  thought 
of  poetry.  Neither  does  poetry  mean  something 
which  is  fanciful  and  unreal.  By  poetry  we 
mean  invisible  truth  as  distinct  from  that  which 
is  visible.  Not  every  invisible  truth ;  not,  for  ex- 
ample, the  invisible  truths  which  are  perceivable 
by  the  understanding,  as  mathematics  ;  but  the 
invisible  realities  which  are  recognized  by  the  im- 
agination. We  will  take  an  illustration.  You 
look  at  this  England,  intersected  with  its  rail- 
ways, and  say  it  is  becoming  a  dull,  prosaic  thing. 
The  sentimentalist  will  tell  you  it  has  broken  up 
all  the  poetry  of  the  scene,  because  it  has  run 
through  our  pleasure-grounds,  sadly  cut  up  our 


22  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

old  retreats  and  solitudes,  and  destroyed  all  clas- 
sical associations.  So  it  may  have  done.  It  has 
destroyed  that  which  was  associated  with  the 
poetry  of  the  past;  but  it  has  left  us  the  real 
poetry  of  the  present.  Let  men  look  upon  that 
railroad,  and  one  will  see  nothing  but  the  ma- 
chine that  conveys  the  travellers  to  their  desti- 
nation. This  is  a  truth,  but  only  a  visible  one. 
The  engineer  comes  and  sees  in  it  another  class 
of  truths.  It  suggests  to  his  mind  the  idea  of 
broad  and  narrow  gauge,  he  talks  of  gradients, 
&c.  Another  truth  ;  that  which  is  appreciable 
by  the  understanding.  Then  let  the  poet  come 
with  that  eye  of  his  "  glancing  from  heaven  to 
earth,  from  earth  to  heaven,"  and  his  imagination 
creates  another  class  of  truths;  the  suggested 
meaning  of  it  to  him  is  the  triumph  of  mind  over 
matter;  the  gradual  annihilation  of  time  and 
space.  He  sees  in  these  railroads  stretched 
throughout  the  country  the  approaching  times  of 
peace  and  human  union  ;  and  so  he  bursts  out 
into  his  high  prophetic  song  of  the  time — 

"  When  the  war  drum  throbs  no  more,  and  the  battle  flags 

are  furled, 
In  the  parliament  of  man,  the  federation  of  the  world." 

All  this  is  truth  ;  neither  seen,  nor  reasoned  truth, 
but  truth  to  the  imagination.      Truth  just  as  real 


BY  KEV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  23 

in  its  way,  as  the  others  are  in  theirs.  And  this 
is  poetry.  For  this  reason  is  poetry  a  thing  need- 
ful for  the  working  man.  His  whole  life,  if  he 
could  be  taught  to  feel  it,  is  full  of  deep,  true 
poetry.  The  poet  teaches  him  by  suggestive  in- 
spiration the  hidden  meaning  of  common  things, 
transfiguring  life,  as  it  were,  by  shedding  a  glory 
on  it ;  and  if  you  will  force  the  poor  man  to  see 
nothing  but  the  wretched  reality  that  is  around 
him,  if  you  will  not  let  his  mind  be  enlightened 
by  the  invisible  truth  of  things,  if  you  will  not 
let  him  learn  from  the  master  thinkers  of  the  past 
how  in  his  work,  in  his  smoky  cabin,  in  his  home 
affections,  there  is  a  deep  significance  concealed, 
connecting  him,  when  he  once  has  felt  it,  with 
the  highest  truths  of  the  invisible  world,  you  con- 
demn the  worker  to  a  desolate  lot  indeed. 

You  have  a  second  class  of  means  in  your  In- 
stitution for  refining  taste, — works  of  fiction.  It 
is  in  vain  to  rail  at  these  with  indiscriminate  cen- 
sure. Read  they  will  be,  and  read  they  must  be ; 
and  if  we  are  asked  the  reason  why  works  of 
fiction  are  matters  of  importance,  the  best  reply 
which  has  been  suggested  is,  that  they  enlarge 
the  heart,  enabling  us  to  sympathize  with  the 
hearts  of  a  larger  circle  of  the  human  race  than 
that  into  which  our  own  experience  admits  us. 
You  are  all  familiar  with  the  works  of  Dickens. 


24  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

The  effect  of  that  man's  writings  upon  English 
feelings  and  English  sympathies  is  quite  incalcu- 
lable. The  peculiar  feature  of  his  works  is,  that 
their  scenes  are  always  placed  in  the  ordinary 
walks  of  life.  It  is  the  character  of  all  fiction- 
now.  The  Clarissas  and  Grandisons  of  past  ages 
have  disappeared,  and  the  life  exhibited  to  us 
now  is  that  of  the  lower  classes  of  society.  Men, 
who  by  reading  the  works  of  Cooper,  had  learned 
to  feel  that  there  was  a  real  human  life  in  the 
heart  of  the  red  Indian  of  the  prairie,  and  who, 
by  reading  the  works  of  Scott,  learned  that  be- 
neath the  helmets  and  mail  of  iron  which  rust  in 
our  armouries,  human  passions  and  affections 
once  beat  warm,  were  insensibly  taught  by  the 
works  of  Dickens  to  feel  that  in  this  country,  close 
to  their  own  homes,  there  was  a  truth  of  human 
life,  the  existence  of  which  they  had  not  sus- 
pected. We  all  remember  the  immense  sensation 
those  works  made  at  first.  If  you  asked  the  lady 
who  was  getting  out  of  her  coroneted  carriage 
at  the  bookseller's  shop  what  it  was  she  wanted, 
you  were  told  she  had  come  to  inquire  if  the  new 
number  of  Dickens's  last  work  were  out  yet.  If 
you  saw  a  soldier  on  the  turnpike  road  with  his 
knapsack  on  his  back,  reading  as  he  went,  and 
stepped  up  behind  him,  and  looked  over  his 
shoulder,  hoping  perhaps  to  see  that  it  was  a 


BY  REV.  F.  W.   ROBERTSON.  25 

tract,  you  saw  it  was  the  same  everlasting  Dick- 
ens. From  the  throne  to  the  cottage  this  was 
true.  What  was  the  result  of  this  ?  Impercep- 
tibly, one  which  all  the  pulpits  of  the  country 
would  have  been  glad  to  combine  in  producing. 
The  hearts  of  the  rich  and  poor  were  felt  to  throb 
together.  Men  came  to  find  that  the  rustic  altar 
binds  together  two  human  hearts  of  man  and 
woman  with  exactly  the  same  feelings  and  anx- 
ieties and  loves,  as  the  marriage  performed  in  the 
drawing-room,  which  united  peers  and  peeresses. 
They  discovered  that  when  death  enters  into  the 
poor  man's  hovel,  it  is  just  as  much  a  rending 
asunder  of  a  soul  and  body  as  if  a  spirit  had  been 
breathed  away  beneath  a  coverlet  of  silk.  They 
came  to  find,  too,  that  the  lower  classes  have  not 
a  monopoly  of  all  the  simplicities  of  life,  nor  the 
upper  classes  the  monopoly  of  all  its  absurd  pride. 
People  who  lived  in  the  highest  ranks  of  life 
were  startled  to  find  that  their  own  foolish  jeal- 
ousies had  their  exact  repetition  in  the  life  which 
was  going  on  beneath  them.  The  ridiculous 
scorn  with  which  the  ancient  family  looks  down 
upon  the  newly  ennobled,  and  the  newly  enno- 
bled looks  down  on  the  newly  rich,  has  its  exact 
counterpart  in  the  sovereign  contempt  with  which 
the  small  shopkeeper  in  his  shop  six  feet  square 
looks  down  on  the  poor  apple-woman  who  has 


26         LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

dared  to  bring  her  barrow  too  near  the  sacred 
neighbourhood  of  his  aristocratic  board.  This 
was  the  achievement  of  these  works  of  fiction. 
It  was  a  lesson  to  us  all,  of  humbleness,  and 
sympathy,  and  mutual  toleration  ;  one  step  to- 
wards expanded  love.  And  we  can  see  no  rea- 
son why  such  works  should  be  injurious  to  the 
workman.  We  believe  it  is  a  narrow  religion 
which  scowls  upon  them  all  without  discrimina- 
tion. And  the  man  of  labour  is  free  from  one 
injury  which  arises  to  the  man  of  leisure,  from 
reading  works  of  fiction.  Works  of  fiction  have 
in  them  an  excitement  for  the  feelings,  in  which 
one  of  their  dangers  lies.  Every  man  has  experi- 
enced how  feelings  which  end  in  themselves,  and 
do  not  express  themselves  in  action,  leave  the 
heart  debilitated.  We  get  feeble  and  sickly  in 
character  when  we  feel  keenly,  and  cannot  do  the 
things  we  feel.  This  is  a  great  danger  for  the 
unoccupied  and  idle  in  the  upper  classes ;  but 
it  is  not  possible  that  it  should  be  so  great  a 
danger  to  the  workman ;  his  labour  keeps  him 
safe  from  it ;  so  that  it  is  perfectly  possible  for 
him,  by  reading  works  of  fiction,  to  have  his 
heart  purified  and  refined  by  sympathy,  at  the 
same  time  that  he  gets  something  which  is 
healthy  and  invigorating  to  counteract  it  in  his 
hourly  familiarity  with  the  realities  of  toil  and 
acting. 


BY  REV.    F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  27 

We  come  next  to  the  moral  improvement 
which  you  are  anxious  to  effect.  You  explain 
this  moral  improvement  to  be  "  the  elevation  of 
the  habits  of  the  working  man."  You  have, 
surely,  begun  at  the  right  end.  There  are  two 
ways  of  improving  a  nation's  state ;  the  one  is 
by  altering  the  institutions  of  the  country,  the 
other  is  by  the  reformation  of  its  people's  char- 
acter. The  one  begins  from  things  outward,  and 
expects  to  effect  a  change  in  things  inward ;  the 
other  takes  this  line:  from  things  inward  to  things 
outward.  The  latter  is  the  right  plan,  and  you 
have  adopted  it. 

I  believe  I  am  addressing  men  of  every  shade 
of  political  opinion.  There  may  be  amongst  us 
Tories,  many  of  them  men,  of  whom,  whether 
they  be  right  or  wrong,  this  country  has  reason 
to  be  proud,  for  few  other  soils  could  produce 
them;  men  who  felt  that  law  is  but  an  expression 
of  a  divine  will,  that  the  sovereign  is  the  symbol 
of  that  will,  and  therefore  in  their  way  talked  too 
about  the  divine  right  of  kings,  and  believed  most 
religiously  that  the  happiness  of  this  country  de- 
pended on  the  connection  of  Church  and  State. 
I  know  that  I  address  Whigs  here  to-night,  of 
that  party  who  gave  the  most  distinct  expression 
to  their  doctrines  when,  by  our  glorious  Revolu- 
tion, they   stamped  for  ever  on  the  constitution 


28  LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES 

that  great  cardinal  truth,  that  law  is  not  the  crea- 
ture of  the  ruler,  but  that  the  ruler  is  the  creature 
of,  and  owes  his  continuance  to,  the  law.  It  is 
probable  that  I  speak  to  Conservatives  to-night, 
who,  if  we  let  them  give  their  own  account  of 
their  opinions,  have  seen  in  the  teaching  of  all 
past  history,  that  nations  have  had  their  seasons, 
infancy,  manhood,  and  old  age  ;  and  believing 
that  England  has  reached  the  zenith  of  her  man- 
hood, are  consistently  opposed  to  all  progress, 
because  every  step  of  progress  seems  to  them  a 
step  towards  decay.  I  may  be  speaking  to  Radi- 
cals to-night,  who,  if  asked  for  the  definition  of 
their  principles,  would  say,  "  Radicalism  means 
root- work, — the  uprooting  of  all  falsehoods  and 
abuses,"  and  who  would  not  hesitate  in  all  so- 
lemnity of  feeling  to  sanction  their  feelings  by  a 
divine  principle,  and  take  this  text  for  their  motto, 
— "  Every  plant  which  my  heavenly  Father  hath 
not  planted,  shall  be  rooted  up." 

Lastly,  I  address  men  of  another  class  alto- 
gether ;  who  have  felt  burdens  which  crush  the 
millions  of  the  working  classes  with  intolerable 
agony;  and  believing  that  only  by  throwing 
power  into  the  hands  of  the  majority,  England's 
happiness  can  be  secured,  do  therefore  honourably 
and  conscientiously  build  all  their  hopes  on  the 
People's  Charter  as  the  first  step  to  be  secured. 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  29 

And  whether  I  agree  with  their  political  views 
or  not,  I  will  never  shrink  from  saying,  in  any 
society,  that  I  am  personally  acquainted  with 
Chartists,  the  integrity  of  whose  purpose,  the 
unselfishness  of  whose  character,  the  firmness  of 
whose  principle  is  such,  that  if  all  resembled 
them,  if  all  base  men,  whether  high  or  low,  could 
only  be  removed  from  the  land,  then  the  brightest 
day  that  England  ever  saw  would  be  the  day  on 
which  she  got  her  universal  suffrage ;  for  universal 
suffrage  would  mean  then  only  the  united  voices 
of  all  good  men. 

Now  whichever  of  these  views  may  be  right, 
and  I  am  not  going  to  venture  an  opinion  on 
that  subject  this  evening, — whichever  of  these 
opinions  may  be  right,  there  is  a  quackery  in 
every  one  of  them  that  pretends  by  the  realiza- 
tion of  itself,  to  give  to  this  country  all  she  needs. 
For  instance,  if  a  Tory  gets  what  he  wishes,  a 
perfect  loyalty,  and  his  pattern  kingdom  should 
be  only  this,  a  tyrant  sovereign,  and  a  nation  of 
slaves,  I  think  he  would  say  himself  his  toryism 
would  do  us  no  good.  If  the  Conservative  were 
to  obtain  his  wish,  "  things  as  they  are,"  and 
this  were  to  leave  us  nothing  but  stagnation, 
moral,  political,  and  intellectual,  I  think  con- 
servatism would  do  us  no  more  good  than  tory- 
ism.     If  the    Whig   and   the   Radical   were   to 


30  LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES 

realize  their  scheme,  the  entire  overthrow  of  all 
abuses,  the  triumph  of  the  sovereignty  of  law, 
and  yet  with  that  we  got,  as  we  might  easily 
get,  only  a  nation  without  reverence,  and  the 
abolition  of  old  sacred  associations,  the  heart 
of  the  country  being  left  morally  diseased  and 
sick,  whiggism  would  be  as  ineffectual  as  tory- 
ism  or  conservatism.  Lastly,  if  the  Chartist  got 
all  he  wanted,  universal  suffrage,  vote  by  ballot, 
equal  electoral  districts,  annual  parliaments,  paid 
representatives,  and  no  property  qualification, 
and  he  should  succeed  in  transferring  all  power 
into  the  people's  hands,  and  yet  it  were  to  turn 
out  that  the  majority  were  just  as  corrupt  and 
depraved  as  the  minority  had  been  before  them, 
every  honest  Chartist  will  tell  us  that  his  char- 
tism would  have  been  a  failure,  and  was  not 
worth  the  having. 

Now  the  plan  that  you  have  adopted  in  this 
Institution  seems  to  me  to  exactly  reverse  that 
order  of  procedure.  You  have  said,  "  We  will 
reform  ourselves,  and  then  the  institutions  will 
reform  themselves."  And  in  doing  this  you 
have  surely  proceeded  in  the  rightful  order;  for 
if  the  heart  of  a  nation  be  wise  and  right,  you 
may  depend  upon  it  the  laws  of  that  nation 
will  never  long  remain  radically  wrong.  Free 
institutions  will  never  of  themselves  make  free 


BY   REV.   F.   W.    ROBERTSON.  31 

men  out  of  men  who  are  themselves  the  slaves 
to  vice;  but  free  men  will  inevitably  express 
their  inward  character  in  their  outward  insti- 
tutions. The  spirit  of  every  kingdom  must  be- 
gin first  "  within  you." 

I  now  proceed  to  offer  you  two  or  three  cau- 
tions with  respect  to  your  Institution.  First, 
we  must  not  expect  too  much  from  it.  There 
is  no  magic,  no  enchantment,  in  a  library  and 
reading-room.  They  will  not  make  a  man  wise 
or  good  in  spite  of  himself,  or  without  effort  of 
nis  own.  They  will  leave  each  man  what  he 
was  before,  except  that  they  will  put  into  his 
hands  means  of  amelioration.  The  man  who 
was  the  mere  lounger  in  the  streets  will  be- 
come the  lounger  in  the  Institute ;  the  man 
who  was  the  mere  miserable  politician  there 
will  remain  the  mere  politician  in  the  reading- 
room.  The  man  who  got  excitement  from 
drinking  will  now  get  excitement  from  the 
newspaper. 

The  next  suggestion  is,  that  we  must  be  pre- 
pared for  a  great  deal  of  evil.  It  is  utterly 
impossible  to  look  on  this  great  movement  with- 
out seeing  clearly  in  the  distance  a  large  possi- 
bility of  evil.  The  motto  on  one  of  your  papers 
is,  "  Knowledge  is  power."  It  is  a  truth  that  is 
glorious,  but  at  the  same  time  terrible.     Knowl- 


32  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

edge  is  power,  power  for  good  and  evil.  It  is 
a  power  that  may  elevate  a  man  by  degrees 
up  to  an  affinity  with  his  Maker ;  it  is  a  power 
that  may  bring  him  by  degrees  down  to  the  level 
even  of  Satanic  evil.  Increased  mental  power 
will  be  the  result  of  this  plan — possibly  that 
power  will  be  devoted  to  bad  purposes  in  many 
instances ;  it  may  become  what  it  is  not  meant 
to  be,  the  engine  of  some  political  party.  Grant 
this.  But  are  we  to  abstain  from  the  granting  of 
this  power  because  of  the  possibility  of  its  being 
turned  to  evil  ?  Why,  on  that  principle  no  good 
could  be  done  at  all.  Good  in  this  world  cannot 
be  done  without  evil.  Evil  is  but  the  shadow  that 
inseparably  accompanies  good.  You  may  have 
a  world  without  shadow ;  but  it  must  be  a  world 
"without  light,  a  mere  dim,  twilight  world.  If 
you  would  deepen  the  intensity  of  the  light,  you 
must  be  content  to  bring  into  deeper  blackness 
and  more  distinct  and  definite  outline,  the  shade 
that  accompanies  it.  He  that  feels  timid  at  the 
spectral  form  of  evil,  is  not  the  man  to  spread 
light.  There  is  but  one  distinct  rule  that  we  can 
lay  down  for  ourselves,  and  that  is,  to  do  the 
good  that  lies  before  us,  and  to  leave  the  evil 
which  is  beyond  our  control,  to  take  care  of  itself. 
In  this  world  the  tares  and  the  wheat  grow  to- 
gether, and  all  we  have  to  do  is  to  sow  the  wheat. 


BY   REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  33 

If  you  will  increase  the  rate  of  travelling,  the 
result  will  be  an  increase  in  the  number  of  acci- 
dents and  deaths ;  if  you  will  have  the  printing 
press,  you  must  give  to  wickedness  an  illimitable 
power  of  multiplying  itself.  If  you  will  give 
Christianity  to  the  world,  He  who  knew  what 
his  own  religion  was,  distinctly  foresaw,  and  yet 
foreseeing,  did  not  hesitate  to  do  his  work,  that 
in  giving  to  the  world  inward  peace,  it  would 
bring  with  it  the  outward  sword,  and  pour  into 
the  cup  of  human  hatred,  already  brimming  over, 
fresh  elements  of  discord,  religious  bitterness,  and 
theological  asperity.  Our  path  is  clear.  Possi- 
bilities of  bad  consequences  must  not  stand  in 
the  way  of  this  work.  I  see  one  thing  clearly, — 
the  labouring  men  in  this  town  have  a  right  to 
their  reading-room  and  library  just  as  much  as 
the  higher  classes  have  a  right  to  their  clubs,  and 
the  middle  classes  to  their  Athenaeums.  Let  no 
cowardly  suspicion  deter  from  generous  sympa- 
thy. Give  them  their  rights.  Let  the  future  take 
care  of  itself. 

The  other  suggestion  is  this.  Let  not  a  pub- 
lic benefit  become  a  domestic  evil.  In  the  upper 
classes  it  has  been  complained  that  the  club  has 
been  the  destruction  of  domestic  comfort.  It  is 
easy  for  a  man  who  has  a  few  hundreds  a  year, 
by  means  of  combination,  to  live  at  the  rate  of 


34  LECTURES    AND    ADDRESSES 

thousands.  He  may  have  his  liveried  servants, 
his  splendid  hall,  his  sumptuous  entertainments, 
■ — and  for  this  he  may  desert  his  home.  The 
same  may  be  one  of  the  results  of  this  plan  of 
yours.  But  if  a  man  wants  an  excuse  to  stay 
away  from  home,  he  will  find  it,  whether  this  In- 
stitute exist  or  not.  Moreover,  it  is  not  a  com- 
fortable, happy  home  that  men  will  leave,  but  a 
home  made  wretched  by  a  wife's  slatternly  con- 
duct, the  absence  of  cleanliness,  the  want  of  that 
cheerful,  affectionate  greeting  which  a  man  has 
a  right  to  expect  when  he  returns  harassed  and 
half  maddened  from  the  exhaustion  of  his  daily 
work.  Therefore,  let  there  be  a  generous  rivalry 
between  your  wives  and  daughters  and  this  Insti- 
tute. I  tell  them  they  have  got  now  a  rival.  Let 
them  try  which  has  most  attractions — a  comfort- 
able reading-room  or  a  happy  home. 

I  turn  next  to  the  spirit  in  which  your  under- 
taking has  been  carried  on.  I  find  in  it  two 
things,  independence  and  generous  reliance.  You 
might  have  had  an  institution  on  a  different  prin- 
ciple. It  is  conceivable  that  some  wealthy  phi- 
lanthropist might  have  provided  you  all  this,  at 
his  own  cost.  You  might  have  had  a  finer  room, 
more  brilliant  lights,  a  better  furnished  library ; 
but  every  man  who  entered  that  room  would 
have  felt  his  independence  destroyed.     He  would 


BY   REV.   F.   W.   EOBERTSON.  35 

have  felt  a  kind  of  mental  pauperism,  getting 
his  intellectual  food  at  another's  expense ;  and 
there  is  nothing  that  destroys  all  manhood  so 
effectually  as  dependence  upon  the  patronage  of 
others.  Now  you  have  been  independent.  You 
have  said,  "  We  are  men ;  we  are  not  children ; 
we  will  educate  ourselves — it  is  our  own  duty." 
You  have  brought  to  bear  the  principle  of  com- 
bination. The  subscription  of  one  penny  a  week 
would  go  a  very  little  way  for  one  man.  But  a 
penny  a  week  from  1,000  men  amounts  to  more 
than  200/.  at  the  end  of  a  year.  Enough,  with 
a  little  assistance,  for  all  you  want.  You  have 
cleansed  the  building,  washed  it,  papered  it,  fur- 
nished it,  all  with  your  own  hands.  Every  man 
among  you  by  this  will  in  the  first  place  feel 
independent;  in  the  second  place,  he  will  have 
that  elevation  of  character  which  arises  from  the 
feeling  of  property.  Property  calls  out  all  the 
virtues  of  forethought,  care,  respect.  The  books, 
the  furniture,  all  are  yours.  The  sense  of  honest 
property  in  them  will  ensure  that  they  shall  be 
taken  care  of.  Long  may  this  spirit  be  charac- 
teristic of  English  working  men.  We  can  under- 
stand and  honour  the  feelings  of  that  man  who 
stands  before  us  with  a  modest  feeling  of  his 
own  dignity  in  his  countenance,  which  seems  to 
say,  "  The  shoes  that  I  wear  are  clouted,  but  I 

7  * 


36  LECTUEES   AND   ADDRESSES 

paid  for  the  mending  of  them  myself;  the  house 
that  I  live  in  is  small,  but  every  sixpence  of  the 
rent  is  paid  for  with  my  own  money.  It  may  be 
that  my  clothes  are  shabby  and  threadbare  ;  but 
no  man  can  say  that  the  begging  petition,  except 
in  case  of  the  direst  necessity,  ever  went  round 
the  town  in  my  name."  The  greatest  on  earth 
has  no  right  to  look  down  on  that  man. 

But  not  content  with  this,  you  have  mani- 
fested the  spirit  of  reliance  upon  others  for  their 
good  will.  There  is  one  kind  of  independence 
which  is  akin  to  high  excellence ;  another  which 
is  akin  to  restless,  jealous  pride.  The  former  has 
been  yours.  Guarding  yourselves  against  the 
idea  of  receiving  charity,  you  have  said  to  those 
who  are  better  off  than  yourselves,  "  We  will 
accept  gratefully  the  books  you  choose  to  give  us, 
we  will  thank  you  for  your  sympathy."  Now  let 
me  say,  with  all  the  conviction  of  my  heart,  I 
believe  that  you  have  the  sympathy  of  the  upper 
classes.  I  stand  not  here  to  be  the  special,  pleader 
for  the  rich,  or  the  defender  of  the  vices  of  those 
around  me.  In  other  places  I  have  spoken,  I 
trust  I  ever  shall  speak,  in  their  presence,  in  no 
sycophantic  tone  in  the  discharge  of  my  duty. 
But  now,  in  your  presence,  not  for  them,  but  for 
you  to  hear,  it  is  but  plain  truth  to  say  there  is  a 
deep  feeling  for  you  amongst  them. 


BY   REV.  F.  W.   ROBERTSON.  37 

In  these  latter  times  a  convulsion  has  shaken 
Europe,  before  which  many  a  strong  man's  house 
built  upon  the  sand  has  gone  down.  There  has 
been  a  sifting  of  the  nations  ;  and  every  thing 
that  had  not  the  basis  of  reality  to  rest  on  has 
been  shattered  into  shivers.  Through  all  that 
terrible  trial  our  own  country  has  stood  secure. 
The  waves  of  revolution  that  thundered  on  dis- 
tant shores,  were  only  a  feeble  murmur  here. 
The  reason,  politically  speaking,  of  the  difference 
is,  that  the  upper  classes  in  this  country  have 
hitherto  been  the  leaders  in  reform.  There  are 
two  ways  in  which  alteration  may  be  effected. 
If  it  be  done  gradually  from  above,  it  is  a  refor- 
mation;  if  suddenly  from  below,  it  is  a  revolu- 
tion. If  the  higher  do  the  work -God  has  given 
them  to  do,  of  elevating  those  below,  you  have 
a  country  working  out  her  own  national  life  se- 
curely ;  if,  on  the  other  hand,  those  below  either 
tear  down  wantonly,  or  by  the  selfishness  and 
blindness  of  those  above  are  compelled  to  tear 
down  such  as  are  socially  their  superiors,  then 
there  comes  a  crisis  which  no  country  ever  yet 
has  passed  through  without  verging  upon  ruin. 

England's  reforms  hitherto  have  begun  from 
above.  There  was  a  time  when  the  barons  of 
this  country,  sword  in  hand,  wrung  from  the  most 
profligate  of  our  monarchs  the  Great  Charter  of 


38         LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

English  liberties.  That  charter  imparted  a  por- 
tion of  the  freedom  it  won  to  the  ]  oroughs  and 
the  tenants,  mediately  and  immediately  holding 
from  the  Crown.  When  the  insincere  Charles  I. 
came  to  the  throne,  who  stood  foremost  in  the 
resistance  to  the  exaction  of  ship-money  ?  An 
English  gentleman  by  the  side  of  an  English 
peer.  When  his  infatuated  successor,  with  the 
blind  arbitrariness  of  his  race,  untaught  by  all 
experience,  began  that  system  which  ended  in 
the  expulsion  of  his  family,  the  blood  of  freedom 
which  flowed  upon  the  scaffold,  was  the  blood  of 
an  English  nobleman.  When  that  great  measure 
passed  which  gave  so  large  an  extension  of  the 
franchise,  it  was  proposed  by  a  nobleman  in  his 
place,  with  a  voice  choked  with  emotion,  pro- 
duced by  the  magnitude  of  the  change  he  was 
effecting.  Come  down  to  our  own  times.  Who 
have  busied  themselves  in  insuring  for  the  labour- 
ing man  better  ventilation,  personal  and  domes- 
tic cleanliness  ?  Who  are  they  that,  session  after 
session,  fought  the  battle  of  the  working  man  to 
abridge  his  hours  of  labour  ?  Who,  after  long 
and  patient  investigation,  brought  before  the 
country  the  hideous  particulars  of  women  labour- 
ing harnessed  in  the  mines,  and  children  young 
in  years  but  gray-headed  in  depravity  ?  A  band 
of  English  gentlemen,  at  the  head  of  whom  was 


BY  REV.   F.   W.  ROBERTSON.  39 

one  who  has  surrounded  the  name  of  Ashley 
with  a  glory,  in  comparison  with  which  the  con- 
centrated lustre  of  all  the  coronets  and  crowns  in 
Europe  is  a  tinselled  gewgaw,  and  which  will  burn 
brightly  when  they  have  passed  into  nothingness. 
Another  instance  still.  Suffer  me  to  remind 
you  of  the  history  of  your  own  Institute.  At 
the  beginning  of  this  year  a  person  of  this  town, 
afflicted  with  a  severe  malady,  fixed  his  thoughts 
on  this  question,  how  he  should  do  good  to  the 
working  classes  of  Brighton.  You  may  under- 
stand much  of  a  man's  real  interest  in  a  subject 
by  observing  the  direction  that  his  thoughts  take 
when  they  are  left  to  act  spontaneously.  A  man 
who  forces  himself  to  think  upon  a  generous 
topic  does  well ;  but  a  man  whose  thoughts  turn 
to  it  of  their  own  accord,  when  all  coercion  is 
taken  off,  loves  that  cause  in  reality.  It  was  my 
privilege  to  visit  this  person  during  his  illness,  in 
my  pastoral  capacity,  as  a  member  of  my  own 
congregation.  I  found  one  thought  uppermost  in 
his  mind,  "  How  shall  I  do  good  to  the  working 
classes  ?  "  And  that  which  was  at  first  merely 
dim  and  vague,  took  form  and  shape  at  last.  It 
grew,  till  it  became  a  living  thing  ;  and  whatever 
interest  there  may  be  in  the  crowded  room  now 
before  us,  whatever  may  be  the  result  of  this 
movement   in   your   own    intellectual    elevation, 


\ 


40  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

whatever  may  be  the  future  effects  of  it  upon  the 
minds  of  the  men  of  Brighton,  is  all  owing  to 
the  energy  of  one  Christian  philanthropist,  who 
excogitated  his  idea  in  the  midst  of  solitude,  and 
matured  it  in  torture.  And  that  man  is  of  a  class 
above  your  own. 

You  have  asked  for  sympathy.  I  say  that  you 
have  it.  I  say  not  that  the  higher  classes  of  this 
country  have  altogether  understood  the  high  des- 
tinies which  they  are  called  on  to  fulfil.  I  say  not 
that  they  all,  or  any  of  them,  do  what  they  might. 
To  say  that  would  be  to  say  what  has  been  true 
of  no  country.  There  are  nobles  who  see  in  their 
rank  nothing  of  a  higher  call  than  that  which 
gives  them  a  miserable  leadership  in  the  world  of 
fashion.  There  are  land-owners  who  see  in  the 
possession  of  their  land  nothing  more  divine  than 
the  means  of  wringing  rents  from  their  tenants, 
and  furnishing  covert  for  their  game.  There  are 
wealthy  persons  who  speak  of  the  workman  as  if 
he  were  of  a  different  order  of  beings  from  them- 
selves. The  day  is  fast  coming  when  they  will 
find  that  their  whole  life  has  been  a  lie.  After 
that  the  longer  night  is  near,  which  will  shroud 
all  such  in  the  darkness  of  all  good  men's  scorn. 
But  it  is  false  to  history — false  to  experience — 
false  to  fact,  to  give  this  as  the  general  description 
of  the  upper  classes  of  this  country. 


BY   REV.  F.  W.   ROBERTSON.  41 

We  pass  to  the  last  thing  on  which  I  have  to 
speak  to  you.  There  is  an  expression  in  this 
paper  of  a  hope  "  bright  in  the  hearts  of  the 
labouring  men  that  better  times  are  coming." 
The  heart  of  every  one  responds  to  that.  Who 
can  look  on  this  entangled  web  of  human  affairs 
in  which  evil  struggles  with  good,  good  gradually 
and  slowly  disengaging  itself,  without  having  a 
hope  within  him  that  there  are  better  times  to 
come  ?  Who  can  see  this  evil  world  full  of  envy 
and  injustice,  and  be  content  to  believe  that 
things  will  remain  as  they  are,  even  to  the  end? 
Who  can  see  the  brilliancy  of  character  already 
attained  by  individuals  of  our  race,  without  feel- 
ing that  there  is  a  pledge  in  this  that  what  has 
been  done  already  in  the  individual  will  yet  be 
accomplished  in  the  nation  and  in  the  race  ? 

If  I  did  not  respond  with  all  my  soul  to  that,  I 
would  close  the  Bible  to-morrow.  For  from  first 
to  last  the  Bible  tells  of  better  times.  It  came  to 
our  first  parents  and  spoke  of  the  serpent  Evil 
crushed,  not  without  suffering,  under  the  foot  of 
man.  It  came  to  the  Israelite,  mourning  under 
political  degradation,  and  consoled  him  by  the 
vision  of  a  time  in  which  kings  shall  reign  in 
righteousness  and  princes  shall  rule  in  judgment. 
It  came  to  true,  brave  men,  who  groaned  over  the 
hollowness  and  hypocrisy  of  all  around  them,  the 


42  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

false  glare  and  brilliancy  which  surrounded  the 
great  bad  man,  and  told  of  the  day  when  the  vile 
man  should  be  no  longer  called  liberal,  nor  the 
churl  bounteous.  It  spoke  in  the  clearer  language 
of  New  Testament  promise  of  this  actual  world 
becoming  a  kingdom  of  peace  and  purity,  of  jus- 
tice, brotherhood,  and  liberty.  It  irradiated  the 
last  moments  of  the  first  martyr  with  a  vision  of 
the  Just  One  at  the  right  hand  of  power. 

Now  suffer  me  to  interpret  for  you  the  expres- 
sion of  "  better  times."  If  I  understand  you,  you 
do  not  mean  by  "  better  times,"  times  in  which 
there  shall  be  a  general  scramble  for  property; 
you  do  not  mean  the  time  when  there  shall  be 
obliteration  of  all  distinctions,  no  degradations 
for  the  worthless,  no  prizes  for  the  best.  You  do 
not  expect  a  time  in  which  government  shall  so 
interfere  to  regulate  labour  that  the  idle  and  the 
industrious  workman  shall  be  placed  upon  a  par, 
and  that  the  man  who  is  able  to  think  out  by  his 
brain  the  thought  which  is  true  and  beautiful, 
shall  not  be  able  to  rise  above  the  man  who  is 
scarcely  above  the  level  of  the  brute.  Those 
would  not  be  better  times.  They  would  be  the 
return  of  the  bad,  old  times  of  false  coercion,  and 
brute  force. 

But  if  I  understand  you  aright,  you  expect  a 
time  when  merit  shall  find  its  level;    when  all 


BY   REV.    F.  W.   ROBERTSON.  43 

falsehoods  and  hypocrisies  shall  be  consigned  to 
contempt,  and  all  imbecility  degraded  and  de- 
posed; when  worth  shall  receive  its  true  meaning, 
when  it  shall  be  interpreted  by  what  a  man  is  and 
not  by  what  he  has,  nor  by  what  his  relations  have 
been.  You  want  the  restitution  of  all  things  to 
reality.     Those  are  better  times. 

Now,  then,  let  us  look  at  our  England.  Has 
she  any  part  in  these  better  times?  They  tell  us 
that  England's  day  is  past.  I  have  heard  foreign 
philosophers  dissect  our  political  state,  and,  with 
cold-blooded  triumph,  by  all  the  precedents  of  the 
past,  anticipate  our  approaching  fall.  It  may  be 
so.  In  the  history  of  the  past,  in  the  relics  and 
ruins  around  us,  there  are  the  solemn  monuments 
of  nations  once  great  that  are  now  nothing.  The 
land  of  the  Pharaohs  is  in  decay ;  its  population 
is  now  diminishing,  and  the  sand  of  the  desert 
daily  silting  up  the  temples  of  her  former  mag- 
nificence ;  Rome  is  broken  into  fragments ;  Jeru- 
salem's last  sob  is  hushed.  Spain  once  had  an 
empire  on  which  the  sun  never  set,  because  the 
moment  he  set  on  her  possessions  in  the  east,  he 
rose  on  her  possessions  in  the  west.  Spain  lies 
now  in  her  hopeless  struggle  like  the  blackened 
hull  of  a  vessel  that  has  been  lightning-struck, 
rolling  and  heaving  helplessly  as  the  ocean  wills. 
Genoa,  Venice,  Holland,    once    had   an   eastern 


44  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

traffic.  Upon  them  the  same  law  of  decay  has 
passed,  and  the  weed  rots  on  the  side  of  palaces 
that  are  now  the  abode  of  paupers. 

It  may  be  that  such  a  destiny  is  in  store  for 
England.  But  one  thing  is  certain,  that  the  de- 
cay of  morals  in  all  these  cases  preceded  the 
decay  of  institutions.  The  inward  ruin  preceded 
the  political.  So  long  as  there  was  inward 
strength  of  constitution,  so  long  intestine  com- 
motions were  thrown  off  easily  to  the  surface  ; 
so  long  as  the  nation  was  united  in  itself,  so  long 
were  the  attacks  of  enemies  thrown  off  like 
the  waves  from  the  rock.  To  borrow  a  Scripture 
metaphor,  if  there  were  heard  in  the  political 
heavens  of  a  devoted  nation  or  a  devoted  city 
the  shrill  shriek  of  the  judgment  eagles  plunging 
for  their  prey,  it  was  not  till  moral  corruption 
had  reduced  the  body  of  the  nation  to  a  carcase. 
Where  the  body  was  the  eagles  were  gathered 
together.  Looking  to  our  beloved  country,  we 
see  nothing  of  that  kind.  Her  moral  character 
seems  yet  sound.  Healthy  feeling  is  among  us. 
A  few  weeks  ago  I  stood, in  the  lower  room  of 
this  building,  anxious  to  be  a  witness  of  the 
spirit  in  which  you  were  conducting  your  under- 
taking. The  speakers  that  evening,  with  one  or 
two  exceptions,  were  all  working  men.  I  heard, 
not  eloquence,  but  something  far  better — straight- 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  45 

forward,  honest,  English,  manly  common  sense. 
A  high  moral  tone  pervaded  all  that  was  said.  I 
heard  vice  decried.  I  heard  lounging,  drinking, 
smoking,  all  the  evils  that  ruin  the  health  and 
character  of  the  artizan,  sternly  condemned.  1 
trust  that  it  did  my  heart  good.  And  I  hesitate 
not  to  say  that  I  left  that  room  with  feelings 
enlarged  in  sympathy.  I  trod  through  the  dark 
streets  that  evening  with  a  more  elastic  step,  and 
a  lighter  heart ;  I  felt  a  distincter  hope  for  this 
country — I  felt  proud  of  belonging  to  a  nation 
whose  labouring  men  could  hold  such  a  tone  as 
that.  Through  all  England  we  see  the  same 
thing ;  increasing  moral  earnestness,  a  deeper 
purpose,  a  more  fixed  resolve.  Even  in  our  jus- 
tice do  we  see  the  same  healthy  tone.  Justice  is 
no  longer  the  weak,  passionate  outbreak  of  vin- 
dictive feeling  against  a  criminal  for  the  injury 
he  has  done ;  in  the  very  moment  of  her  worst 
insult  England  can  hold  the  sword  suspended, 
and  refuse  to  strike  until  she  has  maturely 
weighed  not  only  what  is  due  to  the  majesty 
of  offended  law,  but  besides,  how  much  to  the 
frailty  of  an  erring  judgment. 

A  striking  exhibition  of  that  same  tone  we 
have  in  the  character  of  our  press.  On  the  whole, 
the  press  is  on  the  side  of  rectitude.  There  is  a 
paper  familiar  to  us  all,  which  is  the  represent- 


46  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

ative  of  English  humour.  It  is  dedicated  to 
mirth  and  jollity;  but  it  is  a  significant  feature 
of  our  times,  and  I  believe  a  new  one,  that  the 
comic  satire  of  a  country,  expressed  in  a  periodi- 
cal, which  tests  a  country's  feeling  because  of  its 
universal  circulation,  should  be,  on  the  whole,  on 
the  side  of  right.  It  takes  the  side  of  the  op- 
pressed ;  it  is  never  bitter  except  against  what  at 
least  seems  unjust  and  insincere.  It  is  rigidly 
correct  in  purity,  distinctly  saying  in  all  this  that 
England  even  in  her  hour  of  mirth  is  resolved  to 
permit  no  encroachment  on  her  moral  tone. 

Looking  at  all  this,  and  seeing  in  the  upper 
classes  and  the  lower  one  strong  feeling,  one  con- 
viction that  we  have  been  too  long  two  nations, 
one  determination  to  become  one,  to  burst  the 
barriers  that  have  kept  us  apart  so  long ;  looking 
at  the  exhibitions  of  high  self-forgetfulness  and 
sworn  devotedness  to  duty,  which  from  time  to 
time  are  rising  even  out  of  the  most  luxurious 
and  most  voluptuous  ranks,  we  have  a  right  to 
hope  that  that  which  is  working  among  us  is  not 
death,  but  life.  Our  national  character  is  show- 
ing itself  again  in  its  ancient  form,  that  strange 
character,  so  calm,  so  cold,  so  reserved  outwardly, 
rising  once  again  in  its  silent  strength.  The  heart 
of  England  is  waking  to  her  work,  that  mighty 
heart  which  is  so  hard  to  rouse  to  strong  emotion, 


BY   REV.    F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  47 

but  the  pulses  of  which,  when  once  roused,  are 
like  the  ocean  in  its  strength,  sweeping  all  before 
it.  This  is  not  death.  .  This  is  not  decay.  The 
sun  of  England's  glory  has  not  set.  There  is  a 
bright,  long  day  before  her  yet.  There  are  better 
times  coming. 


8* 


SECOND   ADDRESS. 


PREFACE. 


As  this  pamphlet  may  fall  into  the  hands  of 
some  who  are  -unacquainted  with  the  circum- 
stances which  gave  rise  to  its  publication,  and  as 
some  principles  are  involved  in  it  which  have  a 
wider  range  than  belongs  to  a  local  Institution,  it 
may  be  well  to  preface  it  with  so  much  informa- 
tion as  may  render  it  intelligible. 

The  Working  Man's  Institute  was  established 
in  October,  1848.  It  was  the  belief  of  those  who 
originated  it,  that  a  large  class  of  persons  were 
almost  entirely  destitute  of  any  means  of  self- 
education  by  access  to  a  library  or  periodical 
publications, — a  class  still  more  limited  in  means 
than  those  for  whom  Athenaeums  and  Mechanics' 
Institutes  had  been  long  established.  A  very 
small  subscription,  one  penny  a  week,  if  only 
sufficient  numbers  would  combine,  was  found  to 
be  large  enough  to  provide  such  an  Association 


LECTURES,  &c.  BY  REV.  F.  W.  ROBERTSON.    49 

with  the  materials  of  mental  and  moral  improve- 
ment; and  it  was  confidently  hoped  that  sub- 
scriptions from  the  wealthier  classes  would  enable 
them  by  degrees  to  accumulate  a  valuable  library. 
Great  eagerness  was  manifested  by  the  working 
classes  when  this  project  was  made  known. 
About  1,300  members  enrolled  themselves  at 
once.  The  peculiar  feature  of  the  Association 
was,  that  the  whole  management  virtually  de- 
volved upon  this  class  alone,  with  the  exception 
of  one  of  a  rank  above  them,  the  late  Mr.  Holt- 
ham,  who  gave  up  a  large  portion  of  his  time  to 
assisting  in  the  organization  of  the  Society ;  the 
object  of  this  being  to  break  down,  if  possible, 
that  feeling  of  suspicion  which  exists  in  the  minds 
of  so  many  of  the  working  class,  of  a  desire  for 
interference  and  coercion  on  the  part  of  those  who 
come  forward  as  their  benefactors. 

It  was,  of  course,  foreseen  that  the  rock  on 
which  such  a  plan  might  be  wrecked,  would  be 
any  successful  effort  to  divert  the  funds  and 
machinery  of  the  Institute  from  its  original  inten- 
tion to  the  purposes  of  a  political  party. 

But  in  this  case,  the  withdrawal  of  all  wel-dis- 
posed  persons  would  leave  the  Association  to 
dwindle  till  it  became  extinct.  For  its  very  exist- 
ence depended  upon  numbers.  The  experiment, 
therefore,  appeared   to    be  a  perfectly   safe   one, 


50  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

inasmuch  as  perversion  of  its  purposes  must 
inevitably  be  followed  quickly  by  annihilation. 

One  fatal  oversight  (such  at  least  it  appears  to 
the  Author  of  these  pages)  in  the  constitution  of 
the  Society  realized  the  foreseen  danger.  It  had 
been  justly  held  that  the  working  men  ought  to 
have  in  their  own  hands  the  management  of  their 
own  Society,  lest  the  smallest  suspicion  should 
arise  that  there  was  any  desire  in  those  who 
were  their  benefactors  to  coerce  or  trammel  them. 
Every  attempt  at  interference  was  scrupulously 
avoided.  All  this  was  wise  and  just.  But  be- 
yond this,  not  only  was  the  domination  of  the 
upper  classes  made  impossible,  but  even  their 
assistance  and  advice  excluded,  by  making  hon- 
orary members  incompetent  to  vote  or  act  on 
committee ;  a  mistake  which  originated  in  an 
over  scrupulous  generosity  on  the  part  of  one 
who  suggested  it ;  but  fatal,  because  false  in  prin- 
ciple. 

To  have  vested  the  power  of  unlimited  control 
or  rule  in  the  richer  classes,  would  have  been  a 
surrender  of  the  very  principle  on  which  the  plan 
rested.  But  to  reject  all  cooperation  and  assist- 
ance from  them,  to  receive  their  contributions 
and  refuse  their  advice,  was  to  create  and  foster 
a  spirit,  not  of  manly,  but  of  jealous  independ- 
ence, and  to  produce  in  a  new  form  that  vicious 


BY  EEV.   F.  W.   ROBERTSON.  51 

state  of  relationship  between  class  and  class, 
which  is  at  this  day  the  worst  evil  in  our  social 
life — the  repulsion  of  the  classes  of  society  from 
each  other  at  all  points  except  one,  so  as  to  leave 
them  touching  at  the  single  point  of  pecuniary 
interest.  And  thus  the  cementing  principle  of 
society  is  declared  to  be  the  spirit  of  selfishness — 
the  only  spirit  which  is  essentially  destructive. 
A  fatal  blunder ! 

When  it  is  reckoned  the  duty  of  one  class  to 
give  money,  and  the  duty  of  another  to  suspect 
motives,  the  cordial  sympathy  of  classes  which 
really  depend  on  another,  cannot  long  continue. 
Not  by  mutual  independence,  but  by  mutual  and 
trustful  dependence,  can  men  live  together  and 
society  exist.  As  might  have  been  expected, 
contributions  fell  off,  and  the  more  active  and 
turbulent,  unbalanced  by  a  salutary  check,  be- 
came leaders  in  the  Society. 

An  attempt  was  made  by  a  numerous  minority 
to  introduce  into  the  library  works  of  skeptical 
and  socialist  principles.  The  secretary  resisted 
the  attempt.  A  general  meeting  of  the  members 
was  dissolved  without  coming  to  a  decision.  In 
this  emergency  the  following  Address  was  made, 
with  the  intention  of  meeting  that  attempt,  if 
possible,  by  a  candid  and  pacific  examination  of 
the  principles  of  the  question. 


52  LECTURES   AND  ADDRESSES 


An  Address  delivered  to  the  Members  of  the 
Working  Man's  Institute,  at  the  Town  Hall, 
Brighton,  on  Thursday,  April  18,  1850,  on  the 
Question  of  the  Introduction  of  Skeptical  Publi- 
cations into  their  Library. 

Brother  Men,  Members  of  the  Working 
Man's  Institute. 

Two  years  have  passed  since  I  addressed  you 
in  this  place.  On  that  occasion  I  was  here  by 
your  invitation ;  on  the  present,  you  are  here  by 
mine.  I  have  to  explain  the  unprecedented  step 
of  summoning  you  to  meet  me  here  this  even- 
ing. My  account  of  it  is  this :  I  am  personally 
compromised  before  the  public  by  your  proceed- 
ings. Unexpectedly  on  my  part,  you  honoured 
me  with  a  request  that  I  would  deliver  the  open- 
ing address  to  your  society.  It  was  at  a  period 
when  events  which  had  recently  taken  place  upon 
the  Continent,  caused  every  large  movement  to 
be  looked  upon  with  suspicious  eyes ;  yet  I  did 
not  think  it  right  to  hesitate  for  one  moment  in 
complying  with  your  request.      Such   influence 


BY   REV.   F.    W.   ROBERTSON.  53 

as  my  name  could  command,  I  gladly  gave  you. 
I  have  not  the  vanity  to  say  that  that  influence 
was  great,  or  that  my  name  had  weight  with 
many  :  but  it  did  weigh  with  some ;  and  support 
was  given  you  by  them  in  reliance  upon  my  rep- 
resentations. To  them,  and  to  the  public  gener- 
ally, I  stand  pledged  for  the  character  of  your 
society.  For  good  or  evil,  my  name  is  insepara- 
bly linked  with  yours.  Your  success  is  my  suc- 
cess, and  your  failure  is  my  shame.  This  is  my 
claim  to  be  heard,  or  rather  the  ground  on  which 
rests  my  duty  to  address  you;  and  I  ask  your 
calm  attention,  not  promising  that  every  word  I 
say  will  be  acceptable  to  all ;  but  I  think  I  may 
promise,  that  not  a  word  shall  drop  from  me, 
which  on  mature  reflection  you  will  be  able  justly 
to  call  illiberal. 

It  may  require,  too,  to  be  explained  why  this 
address  is  a  public  one,  instead  of  being  confined 
to  the  members  of  the  Institute.  Great  publicity 
has  been  given  to  your  late  meetings  by  your 
own  hand-bills,  and  by  the  press.  I  cannot  dis- 
guise from  you  the  fact,  that  much  pain  has  been 
felt  in  Brighton  in  consequence  of  those  proceed- 
ings. I  cannot  hide  from  you  that  much  atten- 
tion has  been  directed  towards  you,  and  that  our 
meeting  of  this  evening  is  looked  to  with  great 
anxiety.     I  cannot  conceal  from  you,  that  sym- 


54  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

pathy  has  been  much  chilled,  that  the  cause  of 
the  education  of  the  working  classes  has  received 
a  shock,  and  that  the  question  of  the  desirable- 
ness of  free  institutions  has  become  a  matter 
with  many  of  serious  doubt.  Therefore,  as  the 
scandal  was  public,  I  felt  that  the  vindication 
must  be  public  too.  You  asked  me  to  stand 
by  you  at  the  hopeful  beginning  of  your  institu- 
tion— I  could  not  desert  you  in  the  moment  of 
danger,  and  the  hour  of  your  unpopularity.  I 
am  here  once  more  to  say  publicly,  that  whatever 
errors  there  may  have  been  in  the  working  out  of 
the  details,  I  remain  unaltered  in  the  conviction 
that  the  broad  principle  on  which  your  society 
commenced,  was  a  true  one.  I  am  here  to  iden- 
tify myself  in  public  again  with  you — to  say  that 
your  cause  is  my  cause,  and  your  failure  my  fail- 
ure. I  am  here  to  profess  my  unabated  trust  in 
the  sound-heartedness  and  right  feeling  of  the 
great  majority  of  the  working  men  of  the  Brighton 
Institute. 

One  more  thing  remains  to  be  accounted  for. 
You  will  ask  me  why  this  meeting  differs  in  form 
so  evidently  from  your  usual  meetings.  The 
chairman  is  not  your  president,  not  your  vice- 
president,  not  even  a  member  of  your  society. 
This  is  my  reason.  I  am  here  to-night  in  a  posi- 
tion quite  peculiar ;  a  position  of  peculiar  delicacy, 


BY   REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  55 

difficulty,  and  independence.  I  am  not  the  organ 
or  spokesman  of  any  party.  I  do  not  mix  myself 
with  any  of  the  personalities  of  the  question.  I 
have  taken  counsel  of  no  one  of  either  party  ;  nor, 
indeed,  have  I  asked  any  one's  advice  upon  the 
matter.  I  am  anxious  that  neither  the  president, 
nor  any  section  of  the  Institute,  should  be  pledged 
to  my  views.  I  asked  no  one  to  share  the  respon- 
sibility of  summoning  this  meeting,  or  that  of  its 
result.  Let  all  the  blame,  if  blame  there  be,  rest 
on  me.  On  my  single  responsibility,  all  is  done. 
To  make  this  evident  to  the  public,  with  the  entire 
and  friendly  concurrence  of  your  president,  Mr. 
Bicardo,  I  asked  one  to  preside  over  us  to-night, 
whose  firmness,  impartiality,  and  uprightness,  are 
so  well  known  to  his  fellow  townsmen,  as  to  deter- 
mine beforehand  what  the  tone  and  character  of 
this  meeting  are  to  be.  This  is  not  a  lecture,  but 
an  address. 

It  is  painful  to  be  obliged  to  say  any  thing  of 
self;  yet,  for  several  reasons,  I  feel  compelled  to 
say  a  few  words  respecting  the  spirit  in  which  I 
desire  to  address  you. 

I  do  not  pretend  to  dictate,  nor  shall  I  assume 
the  tone  of  insulting  condescension.  I  know  that 
many  whom  I  address  to-night,  have  minds  of 
a  strength  and  hardness  originally  greater  than 
mine,  though  my  advantages  of  education  may 


56  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

have  been  superior.  I  am  not  about  to  try  the 
power  of  priestcraft,  nor  to  cajole  or  flatter  you 
into  the  reception  of  my  views.  Let  the  working 
men  dismiss  from  their  minds  the  idea,  if  it  exists, 
of  any  assumption  of  a  liberal  tone  for  the  pur- 
pose of  winning  them.  If  I  speak  sentiments  free 
and  liberal,  it  is  not  because  they  are  adopted  as 
opinions,  but  because  they  are  bound  up  with 
every  fibre  of  my  being.  I  could  as  soon  part 
with  my  nature  and  being,  as  cease  to  think  and 
speak  freely.  Let  them  not  fancy  that  such 
language  is  assumed,  as  fit  for  a  platform  before 
which  they  stand.  There  are  those  of  your  own 
number  who  will  tell  you  that,  in  another  place, 
from  my  own  pulpit,  not  before  workmen,  but 
before  their  masters,  before  the  rich  and  titled  of 
this  country,  I  have  held  and  hold  this  same  tone, 
and  taught  Christianity  as  the  perfect  Law  of 
Liberty.  They  can  tell  you  that  it  has  cost  me 
something,  and  that  I  have  brought  upon  myself 
in  consequence  no  small  share  of  suspicion,  mis- 
representation, and  personal  dislike.  I  do  not 
say  this  in  bitterness  ;  Thold  it  to  be  a  duty  to  be 
liberal  and  generous,  even  to  the  illiberal  and 
narrowT-minded ;  and  it  seems  to  me  a  pitiful  thing 
for  any  man  to  aspire  to  be  true  and  to  speak 
truth,  and  then  to  complain  in  astonishment,  that 
truth  has  not  crowns  to  give,  but  thorns ;  but  I 


BY   REV.   F.    W.   ROBERTSON.  57 

say  it  in  order  that  you  and  I  may  understand 
each  other.  Let  the  men  of  this  association  rest 
assured  that  they  shall  hear  no  cant  from  me.  I 
am  not  before  them  even  to  preach  the  Gospel, 
but  to  meet  them  on  broad  common  ground,  to 
speak  to  them  as  a  man  addressing  his  brother 
men. 

Again,  my  purpose  to-night  is  not  denuncia- 
tion. If  any  man  has  come  expecting  to  hear 
Socialism  and  Infidelity  denounced,  he  will  be 
disappointed.  My  firm  conviction  is,  that  de- 
nunciation does  no  good.  Anathemas,  whether 
thundered  from  church  courts,  from  pulpits,  or 
from  platforms,  are  foolish  and  impotent.  It  is 
the  principle  of  that  Book,  the  spirit  of  which  I 
desire  for  my  guide  throughout  life,  that  the 
wrath  of  man  worketh  not  the  righteousness  of 
God. 

Let  me  explain  why  I  refuse  to  denounce 
Infidelity. 

I  refuse  to  do  so  to-night,  because  it  would  be 
ungenerous.  You  have  heard  of  a  place  called 
"  Coward's  Castle."  Coward's  Castle  is  that 
pulpit  or  that  platform  from  which  a  man,  sur- 
rounded by  his  friends,  in  the  absence  of  his 
opponents,  secure  of  applause  and  safe  from  a 
reply,  denounces  those  who  differ  from  him.  I 
mean  to  invite  no  discussion  to-night ;  and  just 


58  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES. 

because  there  can  be  no  reply,  if  there  were  no 
better  reason  than  that,  there  shall  be  no  denun- 
ciation. 

Your  chairman  has  already  told  you  that 
there  is  to  be  no  debate  ;  and  I  will  explain  to 
you  why  I  have  resolved  on  this.  All  topics  are 
the  fit  subjects  of  free  inquiry;  but  all  are  not 
the  fit  subjects  of  public  discussion.  And  this, 
not  because  of  any  weakness  in  them,  or  uncer- 
tainty respecting  their  truth  ;  but  because  of  the 
very  delicacy  of  the  matter  in  question.  There 
are  some  things  too  delicate  and  too  sacred  to  be 
handled  rudely  without  injury  to  truth.  Nothing 
is  more  certain  than  the  duty  of  filial  love ;  but 
if  it  were  made  a  question  for  discussion  in  a 
school  debating  club,  I  fancy  the  arrival  at  truth 
would  be  somewhat  questionable.  Exactly  in 
proportion  as  a  boy  was  good,  tender,  and  affec- 
tionate, would  he  feel  it  difficult,  rhetorically  or 
logically,  to  defend  his  feelings ;  he  would  be  con- 
scious of  a  stammering  tongue,  and  a  crimsoned 
cheek,  and  perhaps  be  overwhelmed  with  confu- 
sion. Nor  would  it  require  much  talent  or  wit  to 
make  his  position  seem  absurd — it  would  only 
require  a  copious  flow  of  ribaldry.  For  you  know 
the  old  proverb,  that  between  the  sublime  and  the 
ridiculous  there  is  but  a  single  step;  and  the  more 
sacred  a  subject  is,  the  more  easy  is  it  to  give  it 


BY   REV.   F.    W.   ROBERTSON.  59 

an  absurd  aspect.  It  would  be  in  the  power  of 
any  bad  boy  to  raise  a  laugh  at  the  expense  of 
one  better  and  more  manly  than  himself,  by  rep- 
resenting him  as  under  the  guidance  of  his  moth- 
er's apron  string.  In  the  very  same  way  it  would 
be  easy  enough  to  reduce  the  position  of  a  relig- 
ious man  to  one  exquisitely  ludicrous  ;  loud,  rude 
taunts  of  spiritual  subjection,  timidity,  support  by 
leading  strings,  pointed  with  blasphemy  and  un- 
scrupulous effrontery,  would  not  demand  much 
superiority  of  talent,  but  would  effectually  cover 
all  chance  of  arriving  at  the  truth  with  a  cloud 
of  dust.  Therefore  do  I  refuse  to  permit  discus- 
sion this  evening  respecting  the  love  which  a 
Christian  man  bears  to  his  Redeemer,  a  love  more 
delicate  far  than  the  love  which  was  ever  borne  to 
sister,  or  the  adoration  with  which  he  regards  his 
God,  a  reverence  more  sacred  than  man  ever  bore 
to  mother.  Therefore  do  I  reject  the  infinite  ab- 
surdity of  a  trial  of  such  truth  as  the  existence 
of  a  God  by  a  show  of  hands. 

Again,  there  shall  be  no  denunciation,  because 
infidelity  is  the  vaguest  of  all  charges.  None  is 
more  freely,  or  more  wantonly,  or  more  cruelly 
hurled  by  man  against  man.  Infidelity  is  often 
only  the  unmeaning  accusation  brought  by  timid 
persons,  half  conscious  of  the  instability  of  their 
own  belief,  and  furious  against  every  one  whose 


GO  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

words  make  them  tremble  at  their  own  insecurity. 
It  is  sometimes  the  cry  of  narrowness  against  an 
old  truth  under  a  new  and  more  spiritual  form. 
Sometimes  it  is  the  charge  caught  up  at  second- 
hand, and  repeated  as  a  kind  of  religious  hue  and 
cry,  in  profoundest  ignorance  of  the  opinions  that 
are  so  characterized.  Nothing  is  more  melancholy 
than  to  listen  to  the  wild,  indiscriminate  charges 
of  Skepticism,  Mysticism,  Pantheism,  Ptational- 
ism,  Atheism,  which  are  made  by  some  of  the 
weakest  of  mankind,  who  scarcely  know  the  dif- 
ference between  Mesmerism  and  Mysticism.  I 
hold  it  a  Christian  duty,  to  abstain  from  this 
foolish  and  wicked  system  of  labelling  men  with 
names ;  to  stand  aloof  from  every  mob,  religious 
or  irreligious  in  name,  which  resembles  that  mob 
at  Ephesus,  who  shouted  for  two  long  hours,  the 
more  part  knowing  not  wherefore  they  were  come 
together. 

When  the  most  spiritual  minds  of  the  sixteenth 
century  protested  against  Rome,  Protestantism 
was  called  infidelity.  Eighteen  centuries  ago,  the 
Christians  were  burned  at  the  stake  under  the 
name  of  Atheists.  The  Athenians  poisoned  their 
noblest  man  as  an  Atheist.  Only  a  few  weeks 
ago,  I  saw  one  of  the  most  precious  works  of 
one  of  the  wisest  of  the  Christian  philosophers  of 
England — Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge — denounced 


BY   REV.   F.    W.   ROBERTSON.  Gl 

as  the  most  pestilential  work  of  our  day,  by 
one  of  those  miserable  publications,  miscalled 
religious  newspapers,  whose  unhallowed  work  it 
seems  to  be  on  earth  to  point  out  to  its  votaries 
whom  they  ought  to  suspect  instead  of  whom 
they  ought  to  love,  and  to  sow  the  seeds  of  dis- 
sension, malice,  hatred,  and  all  uncharitableness. 
Nay,  I  cannot  but  remember  that,  in  bygone 
years,  One  whose  whole  life  was  one  continued 
prayer,  the  sum  and  substance  of  whose  teaching 
was  love  to  God  and  love  to  man,  was  crucified 
by  the  bigots  of  his  day  as  a  Sabbath-breaker,  a 
Blasphemer,  and  a  Revolutionist.  Therefore  I 
refuse  to  thunder  out  indiscriminate  anathemas 
to-night.  Real  infidelity  is  a  fearful  thing,  but  I 
have  learned  to  hold  the  mere  charge  of  infidelity 
very  cheap.  And  I  earnestly  would  impress  on 
all,  the  duty  of  being  cautious  in  the  use  of  these 
charges.  Give  a  man  the  name  of  Atheist,  hint 
that  he  is  verging  upon  infidelity,  and  the  man  is 
doomed ;  doomed  as  surely  as  the  wretched  ani- 
mal which  is  pursued  by  the  hue  and  cry  of  bad 
boys,  and  which,  driven  from  street  to  street, 
maddened  by  the  ceaseless  rattle  of  the  tin  ap- 
pended to  him,  expires  at  last,  gasping,  furious, 
amidst  the  shrieks  of  old  women,  and  the  stones 
of  terrified  passengers,  who  are  all  the  more  sav- 
age in  proportion  to  their  terror.  For  cowardice 
is  always  cruel. 


62  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

Again,  I  abstain  from  denunciation,  because, 
not  unfrequently,  even  that  which  professes  to 
be  infidelity,  is  disbelief,  not  of  God,  but  of  the 
character  which  men  have  given  of  God ;  oppo- 
sition to  the  name  of  Christ,  but  not  to  the  Spirit 
of  Christ ;  hatred  rather  of  the  portrait  by  which 
his  followers  have  represented  him.  I  believe 
we  should  never  forget,  that  if  infidelity  be  rife 
in  this  country,  we  who  profess  to  be  servants  of 
God,  have  much  to  answer  for.  Our  bitterness 
and  superstition,  and  rancour,  have  been  the  rep- 
resentations of  the  spirit  of  Christianity  from 
which  men  have  recoiled.  Dare  we  brand  infi- 
delity with  hard  names,  as  if  we  were  guiltless  ? 

Ever  the  lesson  of  history  has  been  this — the 
recoil  from  formalism  is  skepticism ;  the  reaction 
from  superstition  is  infidelity.  In  the  days  of  the 
Pharisees,  the  natural  and  inevitable  recoil  was 
Sadduceeism.  In  the  15th  and  16th  centuries, 
when  Christianity  itself  had  become  form  and 
magic,  the  result  was  the  polished  infidelity  of 
the  Papal  Court  of  the  tenth  Leo.  When  Puri- 
tanism had  bound  men's  consciences  by  a  strict- 
ness more  intolerable  than  that  of  Popery  itself, 
substituted  a  Pharisaism  of  words  for  a  Phari- 
saism of  ceremonies,  regulated  the  simplicities  of 
human  life  by  a  rigorous  proscription  of  all  free- 
hearted mirth,  and  even  restricted  the  dishes  on 


BY   REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  63 

the  table  to  a  religious  number, — the  reaction  was 
the  light,  skeptical  licentiousness  of  the  reign  of 
Charles  II.  It  is  a  fact  worthy  of  deep  ponder- 
ing, to  me  a  singularly  startling  one,  that  at  the 
moment  when  we,  the  priests  of  England,  were 
debating,  as  a  matter  of  life  and  death,  the  pre- 
cise amount  of  miracle  said  to  be  performed  in  a 
Christian  sacrament,  and  excommunicating  one 
another  with  reciprocated  charges  of  heresy, — the 
working  men  of  this  country,  who  are  not  to  be 
put  off  with  transcendental  hypotheses,  and  mys- 
terious phraseology,  on  whom  the  burdens  of  this 
existence  press  as  fearful  realities,  were  actually 
debating  in  their  societies,  here  beneath  this  very 
roof,  a  far  more  awful  question,  whether  there  be 
indeed  a  God  or  not.  It  might  suggest  to  one 
who  thinks,  a  question  not  altogether  calming  in 
these  days,  what  connection  there  is  between 
these  two  things. 

There  is  a  special  reason  for  saying  all  this. 
Among  the  list  of  books  proposed  by  one  party 
amongst  you,  and  rejected  by  the  other,  I  find 
"  Queen  Mab,"  by  Shelley.  Now  Shelley's  works, 
if  objectionable,  are  objectionable  on  a  very  dif- 
ferent ground  from  that  on  which  many  similar 
works  should  be  condemned.  In  one  sense, 
Shelley  was  an  infidel ;  in  another  sense,  he  was 
not  an  infidel.     I  could  read  you  passages  from 


64  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

"  Queen  Mat),"  which  every  right-minded  man, 
would  indignantly  condemn  ;  and  I  could  read 
you  others  breathing  a  spirit  of  benevolence,  and 
aspiration,  and  trust,  and  purity,  which  are  as 
sublime  as  poetically  beautiful.  Of  the  first  class, 
I  need  scarcely  say  that  I  shall  produce  none ; 
and  of  the  second  class,  I  will  only  quote  one — 

"  For  when  the  power  of  imparting  good 
Is  equal  to  the  will,  the  human  soul 
Requires  no  other  heaven." 

I  do  not  ask  for  a  more  spirited  or  a  more  just 
idea  of  heaven.  Compare  it  with  words  infallible 
— "  If  we  love  one  another,  God  d welleth  in  us ;  " 
"  It  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive."  I 
would  that  the  anticipated  heaven  of  many  who 
are  called  Christians,  were  half  as  much  purged 
of  the  idea  of  arbitrary  rewards,  and  happified 
selfishness. 

I  could  adduce  numbers  of  such  passages.  The 
poem  is  full  of  them,  steeped  in  a  flood  of  earnest 
desire  to  see  this  earth  regenerated,  and  purified, 
and  the  spirit  of  man  mingling  with  the  Infinite 
Spirit  of  Good. 

How  comes  it,  then,  that  one  whose  works 
breathe  so  much  of  the  spirit  of  Christianity, 
could  blaspheme  Christ  ?  Alas !  Christ  had  been 
miserably  shown  to  Shelley.    Poor,  poor  Shelley ! 


BY   REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  65 

All  that  he  knew  of  Christianity,  was  as  a  system 
of  exclusion  and  bitterness,  which  was  to  drive 
him  from  his  country;  all  that  he  knew  of  the 
God  of  the  Bible,  was  the  picture  of  a  bloody 
tyrant,  gloating  in  blood,  and  making  his  horrible 
decree  the  measure  of  right  and  wrong,  instead 
of  right  and  wrong  the  ground  of  his  decree.  I 
say  God  had  been  so  represented  to  Shelley  ;  and 
if  it  be  replied,  "  Shelley  might  have  read  his 
Bible  to  find  that  this  was  false,"  I  reply,  that 
chapter  and  verse  were  quoted  by  those  who  were 
supposed  to  know  their  Bible,  in  corroboration  of 
their  theories,  and  Shelley  could  not  have  read 
those  passages  but  with  preconceptions  of  their 
meaning.  I  grieve  that  I  cannot  call  Shelley  a 
Christian.  There  are  frantic  ravings  in  this  book 
which  no  Christian  can  justify ;  wild,  vague 
music,  as  of  an  .ZEolian  harp,  inarticulate  and 
unmeaning,  breathed  as  a  hymn  to  the  Spirit  of 
Nature,  Intellectual  Beauty,  and  so  forth ;  mad- 
dest schemes  and  fastidious  sensitivenesses  re- 
specting marriage,  and  man's  granivorous  nature  ; 
a  fibre  of  insanity  in  his  brain ;  yet  I  cannot  help 
feeling  that  there  was  a  spirit  in  poor  Shelley's 
mind,  which  might  have  assimilated  with  the 
Spirit  of  his  Redeemer, — nay  which  I  will  dare 
to  say,  was  kindred  with  that  Spirit,  if  only  his 
Redeemer  had  been  differently  imaged   to  him. 


66  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

Let  who  will  denounce  Shelley,  I  will  not.  T 
will  not  brand  with  Atheism  the  name  of  one 
whose  life  was  one  dream  of  enthusiastic  how- 
ever impracticable,  philanthropy.  I  will  not  say 
that  a  man  who,  by  his  opposition  to  God,  means 
opposition  to  a  demon,  to  whom  the  name  of 
God  in  his  mind  is  appended,  is  an  enemy  of 
God.  To  such  a  man  I  only  reply,  you  are 
blaspheming  a  devil.  That  is  not  the  God  I 
adore.  You  are  not  my  enemy.  Change  the 
name,  and  I  will  bid  that  character  defiance  with 
you. 

Once  more,  I  do  not  denounce,  because  the 
state  of  Atheism  is  too  miserable  for  me  to  curse 
it.  There  is  an  infidelity  with  which  no  good 
man  should  have  any  sympathy.  There  are  in- 
fidels who  are  such,  knowing  what  they  oppose. 
There  are  men  who,  in  no  mistake,  know  the 
difference  between  good  and  evil,  and  distinctly 
knowing  it,  choose  the  evil  and  reject  the  good. 
But  there  is  a  state  called  infidelity,  which  de- 
serves compassion  rather  than  indignation — the 
dreadful  state  of  one  who  craves  light  and  can- 
not find  it.  I  do  think  the  way  we  treat  that 
state,  is  most  un pardonably  cruel.  It  is  an  awful 
moment  when  the  soul  begins  to  find  that  the 
props  on  which  it  has  blindly  rested  so  long, 
are,  many  of  them,  rotten,  and  begins  to  suspect 


BY  REV.    F.   W.    ROBERTSON.  67 

them  all ;  when  it  begins  to  feel  the  nothingness 
of  many  of  the  traditionary  opinions  which  have 
been  received  with  implicit  confidence,  and  in 
that  horrible  insecurity  begins  also  to  doubt 
whether  there  be  any  thing  to  believe  at  all.  It 
is  an  awful  hour  —  let  him  who  has  passed 
through -it  say  how  awful — when  this  life  has  lost 
its  meaning,  and  seems  shrivelled  into  a  span  ; 
when  the  grave  appears  to  be  the  end  of  all, 
human  goodness  nothing  but  a  name,  and  the 
sky  above  this  universe  a  dead  expanse,  black 
with  the  void  from  which  God  himself  has  dis- 
appeared. In  that  fearful  loneliness  of  spirit, 
when  those  who  should  have  been  his  friends 
and  counsellors  only  frown  upon  his  misgivings, 
and  profanely  bid  him  stifle  doubts,  which  for 
aught  he  knows  may  arise  from  the  fountain  of 
truth  itself,  to  extinguish,  as  a  glare  from  hell, 
that  which  for  aught  he  knows  may  be  light  from 
Heaven,  and  every  thing  seem  wrapped  in  hide- 
ous uncertainty,  I  know  but  one  way  in  which  a 
man  may  come  forth  from  his  Agony  scathless ; 
it  is  by  holding  fast  to  those  things  which  are 
certain  still  —  the  grand,  simple  landmarks  of 
morality.  In  the  darkest  hour  through  which  a 
human  soul  can  pass,  whatever  else  is  doubtful, 
this  at  least  is  certain.     If  there  be  no  God  and 

no  future  state,  yet,  even  then,  it  is  better  to  be 

10 


68  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

generous  than  selfish,  better  to  be  chaste  than 
licentious,  better  to  be  true  than  false,  better  to  be 
brave  than  to  be  a  coward.  Blessed  beyond  all 
earthly  blessedness  is  the  man  who,  in  the  tem- 
pestuous darkness  of  the  soul,  has  dared  to  hold 
fast  to  these  venerable  landmarks.  Thrice  blessed 
is  he,  who,  when  all  is  drear  and  cheerless  within 
and  without,  when  his  teachers  terrify  him,  and 
his  friends  shrink  from  him,  has  obstinately  clung 
to  moral  good.  Thrice  blessed,  because  his  night 
shall  pass  into  clear,  bright  day. 

I  appeal  to  the  recollection  of  any  man  who 
has  passed  through  that  hour  of  agony,  and  stood 
upon  the  rock  at  last,  the  surges  stilled  below 
him,  and  the  last  cloud  drifted  from  the  sky 
above,  with  a  faith,  and  hope,  and  trust,  no  longer 
traditional,  but  of  his  own,  a  trust  which  neither 
earth  nor  hell  shall  shake  thenceforth  for  ever. 
But  it  is  not  in  this  way  generally  that  men  act 
who  are  tempted  by  doubt.  Generally,  the  step 
from  doubt  is  a  reckless  plunge  into  sensuality. 
Then  comes  the  darkening  of  the  moral  being; 
and  then  from  uncertainty  and  skepticism  it  may 
be  that  the  path  lies  unobstructed,  sheer  down 
into  Atheism.  But  if  there  be  one  on  earth  who 
deserves  compassion,  it  is  the  sincere,  earnest, 
and — may  I  say  it  without  risk  of  being  mis- 
understood ? — honest  doubter.     Let  who  will  de- 


BY   REV.   F.    W.    ROBERTSON.  69 

nounce  him,  I  will  vnot.  I  would  stand  by  his 
side,  and  say,  Courage,  my  brother !  You  are 
darkening  your  own  soul ;  yon  are  contradicting 
the  meaning  of  your  own  existence.  But  God 
is  your  Father,  and  an  Infinite  Spirit  seeks  to 
mingle  itself  with  yours. 

I  pass  to  the  immediate  question  which  has 
brought  us  together  this  evening. 

The  history  of  recent  events  is  briefly  this. 
About  a  fortnight  ago  certain  books  were  intro- 
duced, or  attempted  to  be  introduced  into  this 
'Institution.  They  were  objected  to — I  must  say, 
rightly  objected  to,  by  a  large  majority  of  the 
members  of  the  Institution.  Out  of  a  society  of 
800  or  900  members,  only  138  could  be  found 
to  publicly  advocate  their  reception.  Now,  in 
order  to  treat  this  matter  fairly,  I  believe  that 
the  best  way  will  be  to  endeavour  to  consider, 
what  are  the  principles  on  which  their  introduc- 
tion is  urged.  Looking  over  these  papers  which 
have  come  before  the  public,  I  think  I  discern 
three  grounds  on  which  their  proposal  is  de- 
fended ;  the  Rights  of  Free  Inquiry ;  the  Rights 
of  Liberty ;  and  the  Rights  of  Democracy.  I 
am  content  to  argue  the  question  on  those  three 
grounds. 

Let  us  first  consider  the  Rights  of  Free  In- 
quiry.    It  is  said,  and  with  some  degree  of  truth, 


70  LECTURES   AND  ADDRESSES 

that  the  reason  of  man  is  the  supreme  judge  of 
all  things,  and  that  God's  existence  cannot  be 
demonstrated  to  reason.  I  am  quite  ready  to 
admit  that,  provided  that  we  can  first  agree  re- 
specting the  word  "  Reason."  Very  often  a  dis- 
pute arises  from  a  mistake  concerning  words.  In 
English,  the  word  "  Reason  "  has  two  meanings, 
and  I  do  not  know  that  I  can  find  any  two 
words  that  are  exactly  adapted  to  express  those 
two  meanings,  which  are  included  in  one  and 
the  same  word.  But  we  will  express  them  in 
this  way.  There  is  a  Soul  and  there  is  a  Mind ; 
the  Soul  or  Heart  is  different  from  the  Mind, 
and  the  Reason  is  different  from  the  Understand- 
ing.* The  understanding  is  that  by  which  a 
man  becomes  a  mere  logician  and  a  mere  rhet- 
orician ;  it  is  simply  that  by  which  he  reasons 
from  the  impressions  received  through  the  senses. 
There  is  an  understanding  in  the  beaver,  and 
there  is  an  understanding  in  the  bee,  by  which 
it  builds  its  habitation.  The  fox  has  it  as  well, 
and  there  we  call  it  cunning.  They  can  and  do 
reason  ;  but  they  have  not  Reason.  There  you 
see    the    ambiguity,   the    two    meanings   of   the 

*  It  is  scarcely  needful  to  remark,  that  this  use  of  the 
two  words  in  a  special  and  technical  sense,  to  denote  a 
most  important  distinction  between  two  things  essentially 
different,  is  borrowed  from  Mr.  Coleridge. 


BY  REV.   F.   W.    ROBERTSON.  71 

word.  It  is  by  this  Understanding  that  man 
knows  what  is  profitable  and  what  is  unprofit- 
able for  him,  by  which  he  can  shape  his  life  with 
prudence.  If  you  mean,  in  using  the  word  Rea- 
son, to  say  that  Understanding  cannot  find  out 
God,  I  am  ready  to  agree  with  you. 

There  is  an  expression  imputed  to  one  of  the 
members  of  the  Working  Man's  Institute,  which 
has  been  since  denied  ;  but  it  matters  little 
whether  it  was  rightly  or  mistakenly  denied  by 
the  committee  ;  it  is  this — that  "  if  a  man  under- 
takes to  prove  the  being  of  a  God,  he  undertakes 
to  prove  too  much."  I  know  not  whether  he  said 
it  or  not.  If  he  did  not  say  it,  I  will  say  it  for 
him.  I  cannot  prove  the  being  of  a  God ;  if  by 
proof,  I  mean  that  addressed  to  the  Understand- 
ing. If  I  said  I  could,  I  should  be  guilty  of  the 
vilest  Rationalism.  I  cannot  prove  any  one  of 
the  highest  truths,  except  to  the  Heart,  the  Soul, 
the  Reason.  I  cannot  prove  to  any  man  that 
sweet  is  better  than  sour.  I  cannot  prove  that 
good  is  better  than  evil  to  any  man,  unless  there 
is  a  correspondence  in  his  own  being  to  the  eter- 
nal difference  between  them.  I  cannot  prove  to 
any  man  that  there  is  a  sun,  unless  he  has  an  eye 
to  see  it.  I  cannot  prove  that  he  is  in  a  waking 
state,  if  he  is  in  an  illusion  that  he  is  in  a  dream. 
For  even  the  proof  I  give,  the  impression  my  hand 
10* 


72         LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

makes  on  his,  is  not  that  disputable  ?  May  not 
that  proof  be  part  of  his  dream  ?  Has  he  not 
before  now  dreamed  that  he  was  awake  ?  The 
fact  is,  that  there  are  truths  of  sense  addressed  to 
the  Understanding;  there  are  others,  and  they  the 
highest,  which  are  addressed  to  the  Reason.  I 
will  undertake  to  convict  a  man  of  idiocy,  if  he 
cannot  see  the  proof  that  three  angles  of  a  trian- 
gle are  equal  to  two  right  angles.  I  will  undertake 
to  prove  him  fit  for  a  lunatic  asylum,  if  he  refuses 
to  receive  the  evidence  that  the  earth  goes  round 
the  sun.  But  if  I  place  before  a  man  an  argu- 
ment resting  on  miracles  or  on  prophecy,  or  the 
proof  from  design,  or  any  of  the  proofs  addressed 
to  the  understanding,  he  may  be  neither  an  idiot 
nor  insane,  and  yet  unable  to  feel  its  force.  An 
old  French  proverb  says,  that  "grand  thoughts 
come  from  the  heart."  God  must  be  felt  by  the 
Heart,  intuitively  perceived  by  the  Reason,  before 
he  can  be  demonstrated  to  the  Understanding.  If 
a  man  does  not  feel  in  every  fibre  of  his  heart  a 
Divine  Presence,  I  cannot  prove  that  it  is  there, 
or  anywhere  else.  For  the  evidence  of  the  Senses 
can  never  be  more  certain  than  the  convictions  of 
the  Soul  or  Reason. 

There  are  men  always  talking  of  rights,  and 
never  of  duties ;  I  do  not  expect  that  they  should 
believe  in  God,  nor  could  I  prove  God  to  such. 


BY  EEV.  F.   W.  ROBERTSON.  73 

But  let  a  man  once  feel  the  law  of  duty  in  his 
soul — let  him  feel  within  him  as  with  the  articu- 
late distinctness  of  a  living  Voice,  the  Absolute 
Imperative,  "  Thou  shalt,"  and  "  Thou  shalt  not," 
•—let  him  feel  that  the  only  hell  is  the  hell  of 
doing  wrong,  and  if  that  man  does  not  believe 
a  God,  all  history  is  false.  Brother  men,  the  man 
who  tries  to  discover  a  God  outside  of  him 
instead  of  within,  is  doing  just  like  him  who 
endeavours  to  find  out  the  place  of  the  rainbow 
by  hunting  for  it.  The  place  of  the  rainbow  de- 
pends upon  your  standing-point ;  and  I  say  that 
the  conviction  of  the  being  and  character  of  a 
God,  depends  upon  your  moral  standing-point. 
To  believe  in  God,  is  simply  the  most  difficult 
thing  in  the  world.  You  must  be  pure  before 
you  can  believe  in  purity;  generous,  before  you 
can  believe  in  unselfishness.  In  all  moral  truth, 
what  you  are,  that  is  the  condition  of  your  belief. 
Only  to  him  in  whom  infinite  aspirations  stir,  can 
an  Infinite  One  be  proved. 

Now  once  more  we  will  try  this  on  the  princi- 
ple of  Free  Inquiry.  I  find,  on  reading  over  the 
papers  issued  by  the  committee  and  their  oppo- 
nents, that  one  party  objects  to  the  refusal  to 
admit  these  books,  on  the  ground  that  it  is  an 
attempt  to  crush  free  inquiry.  Well,  let  there  be 
free  inquiry ;  let  there  be  no  attempt  to  stop  free 


74  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

inquiry.  There  is  no  censorship  of  the  press. 
"We  desire  none.  I  would  not,  for  100,000/.  an 
hour,  that  there  should  be  any  restrictions  placed 
on  the  publishing  of  books.  I  would  far  rather 
that  there  was  much  less  of  censorship  of  opin- 
ion. I  know  that  millions  of  books,  infidel  and 
bad  books,  swarm  out  of  the  press  ;  and  yet  I 
would  not  wish  to  see  them  stopped  by  force, 
except,  of  course,  such  as  are  shocking  to  public 
decency.  Great  as  are  the  evils  of  unchecked 
license  in  publishing  and  reading,  the  evil  of  per- 
mitting any  person  or  persons  to  restrict  either 
authoritatively,  would  be  immeasurably  greater. 
It  is  a  part  of  the  liberty  of  the  country,  part  of 
the  freedom  we  enjoy,  part  of  the  very  peace  and 
purity  we  have,  that  all  these  things  are  permitted 
to  be  matters  of  free  inquiry.  It  is  part  of  our 
moral  discipline.  I  would  not  have  that  exotic 
virtue  which  is  kept  from  the  chill  blast,  hidden 
from  evil,  without  any  permission  to  be  exposed 
to  temptation.  That  alone  is  virtue  which  has 
good  placed  before  it  and  evil,  and  seeing  the  evil, 
chooses  the  good.* 

But  now,  this  loud  cry  about  the  bigotry  of 
stopping  free  inquiry,  let  us  consider  it.     What 

*  See  the  well-known  passage  in  Milton's  noble  work,  the 
"Areopagitica,"  which  was  unconsciously  in  the  mind  when 
these  words  were  spoken. 


BY  REV.   F.  W.  ROBERTSON.  75 

do  the  objectors  to  these  books  say?  Inquire  if 
you  will ;  only  inquire  at  home.  If  you  will  read 
books  of  socialism  or  infidelity,  read  them  at 
home,  do  not  bring  them  into  our  institution. 
Do  not  compel  the  Working  Man's  Institute  to 
indorse  these  books  of  yours  with  its  approba- 
tion. Is  this  bigotry  ?  Is  this  an  attempt  to  stop 
free  inquiry  ? 

Now  let  us  try  the  matter  on  the  principle  of 
Freedom.  It  seems » to  me  that  false  notions 
respecting  liberty  are  strangely  common.  People 
talk  of  liberty  as  if  it  meant  the  liberty  of  doing 
what  a  man  likes.  The  only  liberty  that  a  man, 
worthy  the  name  of  a  man,  ought  to,  ask  for,  is 
to  have  all  restrictions,  inward  and  outward, 
removed  which  prevent  his  doing  what  he  ought. 
I  call  that  man  free,  who  is  master  of  his  lower 
appetites,  who  is  able  to  rule  himself.  I  call  him 
free,  who  has  his  flesh  in  subjection  to  his  spirit; 
who  fears  doing  wrong,  but  who  fears  neither 
man  nor  devil  besides.  I  think  that  man  free, 
who  has  learnt  the  most  blessed  of  all  truths,  that 
liberty  consists  in  obedience  to  the  power  and  to 
the  will  and  to  the  law  that  his  higher  soul  rev- 
erences and  approves.  He  is  not  free  because 
he  does  what  he  likes,  for  in  his  better  moments 
his  soul  protests  against  the  act,  and  rejects  the 
authority  of  the  passion  which  commanded  him, 


76  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

as  an  usurping  force,  and  tyranny.  He  feels  that 
he  is  a  slave  to  his  own  unhallowed  passions. 
But  he  is  free  when  he  does  what  he  ought,  be- 
cause there  is  no  protest  in  his  soul  against  that 
submission. 

Some  people  seem  to  think  that  there  is  no 
liberty  in  obedience.  I  tell  you  there  is  no  liberty 
except  in  loyal  obedience — the  obedience  of  the 
unconstrained  affections.  Did  you  never  see  a 
mother  kept  at  home,  a  kind  of  prisoner,  by  her 
sick  child,  obeying  its  every  wish  and  caprice, 
passing  the  night  sleepless?  Will  you  call  the 
mother  a  slave  ?  Or  is  this  obedience  the  obe- 
dience of  slavery?  I  call  it  obedience  of  the 
highest  liberty,  the  liberty  of  love. 

We  hear  in  these  days  a  great  deal  respecting 
Rights  :  the  rights  of  private  judgment,  the  rights 
of  labour,  the  rights  of  property,  and  the  rights 
of  man.  Rights  are  grand  things,  divine  things 
in  this  world  of  God's ;  but  the  way  in  which 
we  expound  those  rights,  alas!  seems  to  me  to 
be  the  very  incarnation  of  selfishness.  I  can  see 
nothing  very  noble  in^a  man  who  is  for  ever 
going  about  calling  for  his  own  rights.  Alas  ! 
alas !  for  the  man  who  feels  nothing  more  grand 
in  this  wondrous,  divine  world  than  his  own 
rights ! 

Let    me    tell    you   a   story   respecting  rights. 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  77 

Three  thousand  years  ago,  history  tells  us  of  two 
men,  the  one,  a  poor  man,  the  other  a  rich  man. 
The  name  of  the  poor  man  was  David,  the  name 
of  the  rich  man  was  Nabal.  David  had  been 
expelled  from  his  country  unjustly,  and  in  that 
emergency  there  was  nothing  left  for  him  but  to 
secure  his  independence  by  becoming  chieftain 
over  a  band  of  disaffected  men,  who  lived  in 
those  rude  times  irregularly  enough,  but  whose 
wild  proceedings  he  contrived  partially  to  restrain. 
There  was  a  custom  in  that  country  which  gave 
to  every  such  chieftain  a  right  to  levy  a  kind  of 
compulsory  wages,  tax,  or  black  mail,  upon  those 
shepherds  and  farmers  whose  property  he  had 
respected  and  defended  from  others  more  unscru- 
pulous. It  had  grown  up  by  a  kind  of  tacit 
understanding;  not  precisely  defined,  and  liable 
therefore  to  considerable  abuse  and  uncertainty. 
David  had  made  such  a  claim  on  Nabal,  and 
Nabal  considered  it  unreasonable,  refused  to  ac- 
cede to  it,  and  added,  besides,  words  of  taunt, 
those  bitter,  contemptuous  words,  which  the  arro- 
gant vulgar  can  use,  who  fancy  that  wealth  and 
birth  have  entitled  them  to  scorn  plebeian  claims ; 
words  which  make  the  blood  boil  in  men's  veins ; 
whereupon  David  girded  on  his  sword  in  fury, 
and  nothing  but  an  abject  apology  from  Nabal's 
wife  could  have  prevented  an  appeal  to  arms,  or, 


78  LECTTKES  AND   ADDKESSES 

as  you  call  it  in  these  days,  an  appeal  to  physical 
force. 

Brother  men,  these  were  the  Rights  of  Labour 
opposed  to  the  Rights  of  Property.  I  cannot  see 
any  thing  noble  in  that.  I  cannot  see  any  thing 
manly  in  that  ferocious  struggle  between  rich 
and  poor ;  the  one  striving  to  take  as  much,  and 
the  other  to  keep  as  much  as  he  can.  The  cry 
of  "  My  rights,  your  duties ! "  I  think  we  might 
change  to  something  nobler.  If  we  could  learn 
to  say,  "  My  duties,  your  rights,"  we  should  come 
to  the  same  thing  in  the  end ;  but  the  spirit  would 
be  different.  That  not  very  dignified  feud  be- 
tween Nabal  and  David  is  only  a  picture  of  that 
which,  hidden  under  fine  names,  men  are  calling 
now  patriotism,  public  spirit,  political  martyrdom, 
protection,  free  trade — miserable  enough  in  my 
mind. 

All  we  are  gaining  by  this  cry  of  Rights,  is  the 
life  of  the  wild  beast  and  of  the  wild  man  of  the 
desert,  whose  hand  is  against  every  man,  and 
every  man's  hand  against  him.  Nay,  the  very 
brutes,  unless  they  had  an  instinct  which  respects 
Rights  even  more  strongly  than  it  claims  them, 
could  never  form  anything  like  a  community. 
Did  you  never  observe  in  a  heronry  or  rookery, 
that  the  new-made  nest  is  left  in  perfect  confi- 
dence by  the  birds  that  build  it?    If  the  others 


BY   REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  79 

had  not  learned  to  respect  those  private  and 
sacred  Rights,  but  began  to  assert  each  his  right 
to  the  sticks  which  are  woven  together  there,  I 
fancy  it  would  be  some  time  before  you  could  get 
a  heronry  or  a  rookery ! 

Two  thousand  years  ago,  there  was  One  here 
on  this  earth  who  lived  the  grandest  life  that  ever 
has  been  lived  yet,  a  life  that  every  thinking  man, 
with  deeper  or  shallower  meaning,  has  agreed  to 
call  Divine.  I  read  little  respecting  his  Rights 
or  of  his  claims  of  Rights ;  but  I  have  read  a 
great  deal  respecting  his  Duties.  Every  act  He 
did  he  called  a  Duty.  I  read  very  little  in  that 
life  respecting  his  Rights ;  but  I  hear  a  vast  deal 
respecting  his  Wrongs — wrongs  infinite — wrongs 
borne  with  a  majestic,  Godlike  silence.  His 
reward  ?  His  reward  was  the  reward  that  God 
gives  to  all  his  true  and  noble  ones — to  be  cast 
out  in  his  day  and  generation,  and  a  life-confer- 
ring death  at  last.     Those  were  HIS  Rights  ! 

This,  then,  is  the  way  in  which  we  desire  to 
expound  Rights:  my  Rights  are,  in  truth,  my 
Duties  ;  my  Rights  are  limited  by  another  man's 
Rights.  For  example,  I  have  a  perfect  right  to 
build  a  wall  on  my  own  estate.  The  language 
of  the  law  is,  that  to  whomsoever  the  soil  belongs, 
is  his  all  up  to  the  skies.  But  within  three  yards 
of  my  wall  is  my  neighbour's  window.  What 
11 


80  LECTURES   AND  ADDRESSES 

becomes  of  the  Right  that  I  was  talking  of?  My 
Right  is  limited ;  it  is  my  duty,  because  limited 
by  his  Right. 

You  have  a  right  to  read  your  books  and  to 
inquire  and  to  examine  for  yourselves  ;  but  I  put 
it  to  you,  brother  men,  have  you  a  right  to  force 
into  an  institution  shared  by  others,  books  which 
are  to  them  disgusting  ?    Is  that  liberty  ? 

There  is  one  other  principle  on  which  the  pres- 
ent arrangement  of  your  affairs  is  defended.  It 
is  the  rights  of  Democracy.  I  will  now  define 
Democracy.  I  know  not  whether  the  definition 
will  be  taken  ;  but  I  will  give  it  in  the  fair,  and 
generous,  and  candid  sense.  I  believe  that  in 
everything  held  with  earnestness  by  large  bodies 
of  men,  there  is  a  certain  amount  of  truth.  Whe- 
ther I  hold  democratic  views  or  not,  is  not  the 
question.  I  merely  endeavour  to  expound  the  fair 
meaning  of  them.  Now,  Democracy,  if  it  means 
anything,  means  government  by  the  people.  It 
has  for  its  very  watchword,  Equality  of  all  men. 
Now  let  us  not  endeavour  to  make  it  ridiculous. 
I  suppose  that  a  sensible  democrat  does  not  mean 
that  all  individual  men  are  equal  in  intelligence 
and  worth.  He  does  not  mean  that  the  Bushman 
or  the  Australian  is  equal  to  the  Englishman. 
But  he  means  this — that  the  original  stuff  of 
which  all  men  are  made,  is  equal ;  that  there  is 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  81 

no  reason  why  the  Hottentot  and  the  Australian 
may  not  be  cultivated,  so  that  in  the  lapse  of 
centuries  they  may  be  equal  to  Englishmen.  I 
suppose  the  democrat  would  say,  there  is  no 
reason  why  the  son  of  a  cobbler  should  not  by 
education  become  fit  to  be  the  prime  minister  of 
the  land,  or  take  his  place  on  the  bench  of  judges. 
And  I  suppose  that  all  free  institutions  mean 
this.  I  suppose  they  are  meant  to  assert — Let  the 
people  be  educated ;  let  there  be  a  fair  field  and 
no  favour ;  let  every  man  have  a  fair  chance,  and 
then  the  happiest  condition  of  a  nation  would  be, 
that  when  every  man  had  been  educated  morally 
and  intellectually  to  his  very  highest  capacity, 
there  should  then  be  selected  out  of  men  so 
trained  a  Government  of  the  Wisest  and  the 
Best. 

This  is  the  principle  of  Democracy.  I  suppose 
no  man  will  quarrel  with  this  definition.  It  ap- 
pears to  me  that  you  have  departed  from  that 
principle.  The  principle  of  Democracy  is  this — 
that  there  is  no  essential  difference  between  man 
and  man ;  no  reason  why  one  class  should  be 
selected  for  privileges  as,  in  its  nature,  necessarily 
superior  to  another  class.  I  find  in  your  book  of 
rules,  a  rule  which  entirely  contradicts  that ;  and 
it  seems  to  me  that  it  is  a  suicidal  rule.  It  is 
this.    You  have  a  rule  which  prevents  any  one  oi 


82  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

your  honorary,  that  is  richer  members,  from  hav- 
ing a  vote  or  acting  in  committee.  That  is  to 
say,  you  will  neither  have  a  Democracy  nor  an 
Aristocracy,  but  an  Oligarchy.  Not  an  open  field 
for  worth,  nor  a  government  by  the  best  and  wis- 
est ;  but  a  government  by  a  specified  class.  You 
will  not  permit  the  intelligence  of  others  to  guide 
or  assist  you.  You  cut  yourselves  off  from  all 
more  highly  educated  minds.  You  not  only  say 
that  the  working  man,  intellectually  and  orig- 
inally, is  on  a  level  with  others,  but  that  he  is  ab- 
solutely superior.  You  deny  Equality.  You  will 
not  permit  a  free,  fair  chance  for  a  government 
of  the  wisest  and  best.  You  say  the  most  ignor- 
ant must  be  the  best  and  wisest.  Is  that  Demo- 
cracy ?  Brother  men,  I  hesitate  not  to  say,  that 
unless  that  rule  be  rescinded,  and  the  whole  thing 
be  put  on  a  different  footing,  this  institution  is 
lost.  I  know  that  this  was  done  with  the  concur- 
rence of  your  late  lamented  treasurer.  It  was  not 
a  rule  which  I  felt  could  ever  succeed  or  prosper  ; 
but,  however,  so  long  as  his  influence  was  with 
you,  which  you  respected  and  revered,  the  injury 
was  not  felt,  because  he  supplied  the  place  of  that 
intelligence  from  which  you  have  cut  yourselves 
off.  But  let  that  rule  remain,  live  in  the  spirit  of 
jealousy  and  suspicion,  believe  that  the  upper 
classes  mean  you  ill,  that  in  the  great  town  of 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  83 

Brighton  no  man  of  any  rank  or  wealth  above 
your  own  can  assist  you  with  advice  but  he  must 
do  so  from  interested  motives,  and  I  can  not  see 
how  this  institution  is  to  last  at  all. 

I  now  wish  to  put  before  you  two  or  three 
reasons  why  it  seems  to  me  that,  on  grounds  of 
fairness,  these  books  ought  to  be  rejected.  The 
first  reason  is,  that  they  are  contrary  to  the  very 
objects  of  your  institution.  I  find  in  the  address 
put  forth  by  the  committee  to  the  members,  these 
words :  "  We  are  only  carrying  out  the  objects  of 
our  institution  and  the  wishes  of  its  members,  by 
affording  mental  amusement  for  all  tastes  of  our 
supporters."  I  will  not  severely  criticize  that  sen- 
tence, though  it  lies  open  to  much  criticism.  I 
have  a  much  more  important  work  before  me 
than  the  criticism  of  sentences.  I  am  willing  to 
admit  that  it  is  loosely  expressed,  and  I  do  not 
wish  to  take  advantage  of  an  incorrect  expression. 
There  are  members  of  this  institution  little  above 
twelve  or  thirteen  years  of  age ;  and  if  I  wanted 
to  turn  it  into  ridicule,  I  might  ask  the  committee 
whether  they  meant  to  say,  in  stating  that  princi- 
ple, that  they  consider  themselves  bound  to  fur- 
nish books  level  to  the  capacity  of  children  of 
thirteen  years  of  age  ?  There  are  persons  among 
you,  I  fear  it  must  be  said,  of  licentious  feelings  ; 

I  am  sure  the  members  of  the  committee  will  not 
11* 


84  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

say  they  are  bound  to  furnish  mental  amusement 
fitted  to  the  taste  of  such  persons.  Yet  if  they 
mean  any  thing,  they  must  mean  this, — that  if 
there  be  in  the  society  a  large  body  of  working 
men  who  hold  certain  views  and  opinions,  it  is 
their  bounden  duty  to  provide  intellectual  food 
siiited  to  each  of  such  classes.  For  example : 
take  the  books  objected  to,  and  if  there  be  a  man 
who  has  a  taste  for  socialism,  it  is  then  their  duty 
to  provide  such  books  as  Robert  Owen's  works  ; 
or,  if  there  be  a  taste  for  infidelity,  it  is  their 
bounden  duty  to  furnish  the  works  of  Tom  Paine; 
or,  if  a  man  descends  in  taste  to  a  lower  depth 
still,  if  he  can  revel  in  such  works  as  the  "  Mys- 
teries of  London,"  it  is  the  bounden  duty  of  the 
committee  to  furnish  him  with  books  of  that 
character.  Admit  that  principle,  and  your  so- 
ciety is  shattered  into  fragments. 

Let  there  be  a  change  of  expression.  The  true 
way  of  stating  the  principle,  is  this  ;  not  that  it  is 
their  bounden  duty  to  furnish  mental  food  for  all 
tastes,  but  that  it  is  their  duty  to  furnish  books 
adapted  for  the  tastes  of  all  their  supporters. 
There  is  an  immense  difference.  If  you  lay  down 
this  principle,  that  they  are  bound  to  furnish 
books  adapted  to  all  tastes  of  supporters,  then 
every  taste  must  be  represented.  But  if  you  say 
they   are  to  furnish   books  for  the  tastes  of  all 


BY  EEV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  85 

supporters,  then  they  are  bound  to  furnish  those 
which  shall  meet  the  wishes  of  all,  and  be  disa- 
greeable to  none,  such  as  shall  be  suited  to  those 
tastes  which  are  common  to  all.  Let  me  give 
you  a  parallel  case.  In  the  higher  classes  of  so- 
ciety, men  of  different  ranks  and  attainments,  and 
very  various  tastes,  unite  to  form  a  society  similar 
to  yours.  The  clergyman,  the  medical  man,  and 
the  lawyer,  ladies  and  antiquaries,  all  join  and 
form  a  lending  library,  book  society,  or  whatso- 
ever it  may  be  called.  Now  it  is  plainly  the  duty 
of  their  committee  to  provide  works  which  they 
may  all  read  in  common.  There  are  certain  tastes 
and  principles  in  which  they  all  agree.  There  is 
a  large  variety  of  books  which  meet  all  their 
tastes.  This  is  the  very  principle  of  their 
union  in  a  society.  It  is  for  this  they  have 
met  and  clubbed  their  money  together.  They 
perceive  that  they  have  certain  tastes  in  com- 
mon, and  they  combine,  in  order  that  they  may 
be  able  to  read  more  books  than  they  could  by 
buying  them  singly  and  separately.  This  is  the 
principle. 

Now  suppose,  instead  of  that,  the  committee 
were  to  resolve  that  there  must  be  a  shelf  of 
divinity  and  a  shelf  of  chemistry,  for  clergymen 
and  medical  men,  and  another  shelf  of  black- 
letter   books   for   antiquarians,  and   you  will   at 


86  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

once  observe  that  the  whole  meaning  of  a  society 
such  as  this  is  lost.  The  medical  man  and  the 
clergyman  join  the  general  society  to  read  books 
of  general  and  not  of  special  interest.  If  the 
clergyman  wishes  for  his  book  of  theology,  and 
the  medical  man  his  medical  authority,  the  one 
must  form  a  clerical  library,  and  the  other  must 
form  his  medical  society.  But  in  that  case  he 
must  be  content  with  limited  numbers  and  lim- 
ited means,  exactly  in  proportion  as  the  object  of 
association  becomes  limited  and  definite.  Pre- 
cisely so  with  this  Society.  I  do  not  say  that 
the  members  of  this  Institute  have  not  a  perfect 
right  to  form  unions  amongst  themselves ;  but 
once  give  utterance  to  this  principle, — that  it 
is  the  duty  of  the  committee  to  furnish  food 
for  all  tastes,  then  you  will  have,  not  a  so- 
ciety but  societies,  not  an  institution,  but  a  knot 
of  clubs. 

I  call  your  attention  to  another  point.  In  this 
paper,  your  committee  hold  it  to  be  their  duty  to 
afford  mental  amusement  for  all  tastes.  Again  I 
say,  I  will  not  rigorously  press  the  exact  meaning 
of  words.  It  is  a  duty  always  to  endeavour  to 
ascertain  what  men  mean,  instead  of  ungener- 
ously binding  them  by  their  words,  which  are 
often  inexact.  And,  indeed,  on  looking  at  the 
titles  of  these  books  "  of  amusement,"  I  find  that 


BY   REV.   F.   W.  ROBERTSON.  87 

some  are  any  thing  but  amusing,  but  are  books 
which  require  great  exercise  of  intellectual  facul- 
ties. But  still  some  remark  must  be  made  on 
this  idea  of  works  of  amusement  It  is  the  duty 
of  the  committee,  in  part,  to  furnish  books  of 
amusement.  I  said  so  in  my  opening  address.  I 
was  greatly  sneered  at  for  saying  so.  Many  well- 
meaning  and  religious  persons  said  I  had  forgot- 
ten my  place  as  a  clergyman  in  speaking  of  works 
of  fiction  as  fit  for  labouring  men.  They  were 
shocked  and  startled  that  I  dared  to  reckon  it  a 
matter  of  rejoicing  that  there  is  a  moral  tone  in 
that  well-known  publication  which  is  dedicated 
to  wit  and  humour,  or  that  I  even  named  it. 
They  were  scandalized  that  I  could  find  any 
thing  of  moral  significance  in  the  works  of  Dick- 
ens. I  stand  to  what  I  said.  I  do  not  like  to 
characterize  that  kind  of  language  severely ; 
otherwise  I  should  call  it  cant.  It  exhibits  a 
marvellous  ignorance  of  the  realities  and  the 
manifoldness  of  human  life.  I  am  prepared  to 
say  that  works  of  fiction  and  amusement  must 
and  will  be  read,  and  that  they  ought  to  be  read. 
There  is  a  deal  of  religion  in  an  earnest,  hearty 
laugh  that  comes  ringing  from  the  heart.  That 
man  is  a  bad  man  who  has  not  within  him  the 
power  of  a  hearty  laugh.  Therefore  it  cannot  be 
denied  that  it  is  part  of  the  duty  of  the  commit- 


88  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

tee  to  furnish  works  of  amusement ;  but  I  cannot 
but  acknowledge  that  it  is  a  matter  of  surprise 
and  regret,  that,  even  by  an  oversight,  the  com- 
mittee should  have  represented  it  as  their  duty 
chiefly  to  furnish  works  of  mere  mental  amuse- 
ment. Your  Rule  declares  that  "  The  objects  of 
this  Institution  are  to  provide  means  for  the  mor- 
al and  intellectual  improvement  of  its  members." 
What  has  become  of  that  high  moral  tone  which 
characterized  your  first  addresses  to  the  public  ? 
Where  are  the  men  from  whom  I  have  heard,  in 
the  room  below,  language  which  did  my  heart 
good,  and  made  me  feel  proud  of  my  country, 
which  made  me  compare  it  triumphantly  with 
the  language  that  men  of  the  working  classes 
were  holding  on  the  other  side  of  the  water? 
Men  of  the  Brighton  Working  Man's  Institute! 
how  comes  it  that  the  language  of  your  publica- 
tions now  is  so  immeasurably  inferior  in  moral 
tone? 

Once  more,  you  owe  it  to  the  cause  in  which 
your  society  is  enlisted,  to  reject  peremptorily 
these  infidel  publications. 

Every  man,  if  he  is  not  deterred  by  feeling  for 
his  own  character,  is  deterred  by  feeling  for  his 
cause.  There  are  many  things  that  a  soldier  will 
do  in  his  plain  clothes  which  he  scorns  to  do  in 
his   uniform.     You   have   a   cause,    and  I  must 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  89 

acknowledge  that  the  cause  has  received  a  severe 
blow  by  the  proceedings  of  your  last  public  meet- 
ing. I  must  admit,  as  I  said  before,  that  free 
institutions  are  looked  upon  now  with  eyes  of 
jealousy  and  suspicion  by  many  who  lately  felt 
towards  them  very  favourably.  I  have  heard 
again  and  again  this  taunt, — "  These  are  your 
friends,  the  working  men ;  this  comes  of  your 
philanthropy."  And  others,  in  a  less  bitter  spirit, 
have  said,  "  I  fear  you  will  be  disappointed  in 
your  hopes  of  these  working  men."  My  friends, 
the  working  men !  Would  to  God  they  were 
my  friends.  Would  to  God  I  were  more  their 
friend.  I  look  back  once  more  two  thousand 
years,  and  dare  not  forget  Who  it  was  that  was 
born  into  this  world  the  Son  of  a  poor  woman, 
and  probably  laboured  for  thirty  years  in  a  car- 
penter's shop,  a  Working-  Man  ! 

In  reply  to  that  sarcasm,  I  observe,  it  is  to  be 
remembered  that  the  first  use  a  man  makes  of 
every  power  and  talent  given  to  him,  is  a  bad  use. 
The  first  time  a  man  ever  uses  a  flail,  it  is  to  the 
injury  of  his  own  head  and  of  those  who  stand 
around  him.  The  first  time  a  child  has  a  sharp- 
edged  tool  Jn  his  hand,  he  cuts  his  finger.  But 
this  is  no  reason  why  he  should  not  be  ever 
taught  to  use  a  knife.  The  first  use  a  man 
makes  of  his  affections,  is  to  sensualize  his  spirit. 


90  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

Yet  he  cannot  be  ennobled,  except  through  those 
very  affections.  The  first  time  a  kingdom  is  put 
in  possession  of  liberty,  the  result  is  anarchy. 
The  first  time  a  man  is  put  in  possession  of  in- 
tellectual knowledge,  he  is  conscious  of  the 
approaches  of  skeptical  feeling.  But  that  is 
no  proof  that  liberty  is  bad,  or  that  instruction 
should  not  be  given.  There  is  a  moment  in  the 
ripening  of  the  fruit  when  it  is  more  austere  and 
acid  than  in  any  other.  It  is  not  the  moment  of 
greenness,  the  moment  when  it  is  becoming  red, 
the  transition  state,  when  it  is  passing  from  sour- 
ness into  sweetness.  It  is  a  law  of  our  humanity, 
that  man  must  know  both  good  and  evil ;  he 
must  know  good  through  evil.  There  never  was 
a  principle  but  what  triumphed  through  much 
evil ;  no  man  ever  progressed  to  greatness  and 
goodness  but  through  great  mistakes. 

There  have  been  great  mistakes  made  in  this 
society,  and  there  are  many  difficulties  ;  but  you 
will  weather  the  difficulties  yet.  The  mistakes 
will  become  your  experience.  Nay,  I  believe  that 
the  discipline  of  character  which  many  of  you 
will  have  gained  by  this  struggle  with  an  evil 
principle,  and  the  practical  insight  which  it  has 
given  you  into  the  true  bearing  of  many  social 
questions,  in  which  I  personally  know  that  wild 
and  captivating  theories  have  been  modified  in 


BY   REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  91 

your  minds  by  this  recent  experience,  will  be  in- 
valuable. If  only  this  had  been  gained,  I  believe 
the  institution  would  not  have  been  established  in 
vain.  But  if  men  say  that  all  these  difficulties 
tell  against  inquiry  and  education,  I  can  only  say 
that  it  proves  we  want  more  education.  If  I 
wanted  a  proof  of  that,  I  should  find  it  in  this, — 
that  the  working  men  of  Brighton  have  not  yet 
got  beyond  Tom  Paine. 

This,  then,  brother  men,  is  the  reply  to  the 
taunts  that  have  been  made  use  of.  But  still  I 
am  bound  to  acknowledge  this, — and  I  do  it  with 
shame  and  sorrow, — that  there  has  been  a  handle 
put,  by  some  of  yourselves,  into  the  hand  of  the 
bigot  and  the  timid  man.  What  then,  is  all  that 
the  tyrants  of  the  past  have  said,  true  ;  and  all 
that  the  philanthropists  have  said,  false  ?  Were 
all  their  gloomy  predictions  sagaciously  pro- 
phetic ?  What  have  the  tyrant,  the  bigot,  and 
the  timid  said  ?  That  it  is  impossible  to  give 
power  to  the  people  without  making  them  revolu- 
tionary, or  to  give  them  instruction  without  mak- 
ing them  infidel.  You  owe  it  to  yourselves  and 
to  your  cause  to  cast  the  imputation  from  you. 
And  if  Infidelity  presumes  to  lay  her  hand  upon 
the  ark  of  your  magnificent  and  awful  cause,  the 
cause  of  the  people's  liberty,  and  men  say  that  it 

is  part  and  parcel  of  the  system,  give  that  slander 
12 


92    LECTURES,  &c.  BY  REV.  F.  W.  ROBERTSON. 

to  the  winds,  and  prove,  men  of  Brighton,  by  the 
rejection  of  these  books,  and  by  the  reorganiza- 
tion of  your  society,  that  the  cause  of  instruction 
and  the  cause  of  freedom  are  not  the  cause  of 
infidelity. 


TWO   LECTURES 


THE   INFLUENCE   OF   POETRY 


WORKING   CLASSES. 


LECTURES,  &c.  BY  REV.  F.  W.  ROBERTSON.   95 


Two  Lectures  on  the  Influence  of  Poetry  on  the 
Working  Classes,  delivered  before  the  Members 
of  the  Mechanics''  Institution,  February,  1852. 


LECTURE   L* 

The  selection  of  the  subject  of  this  evening's 
Lecture,  "  The  Influence  of  Poetry  on  the  Work- 
ing Classes,"  requires  some  explanation.  What 
has  Poetry  to  do  with  the  Working  Classes  ? 
What  has  it,  in  fact,  to  do  with  this  age  at  all  ? 
Does  it  not  belong  to  the  ages  past,  so  that  the 
mere  mention  of  it  now  is  an  anachronism — 
something  out  of  date  ?  Now,  there  is  a  large 
class  of  persons,  to  whom  all  that  belongs  to  our 
political  and  social  existence  seems  of  such  ab- 

*  As  some  of  the  topics  contained  in  the  following  Lect- 
ures might  seem  out  of  place,  as  addressed  to  the  members 
of  a  Mechanics'  Institution,  it  may  be  well  to  state  that  they 
were  delivered  before  a  mixed  audience.  They  are  printed, 
with  some  additions,  from  the  corrected  notes  of  a  short-hand 
reporter. 

12* 


96  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

sorbing  interest,  that  they  look  with  impatience 
on  any  thing  which  does  not  bear  directly  on  it. 
A  great  political  authority  of  the  present  day  has 
counselled  the  young  men  of  this  country,  and 
especially  of  the  Working  Classes,  not  to  waste 
their  time  on  literature,  but  to  read  the  news- 
papers, which,  he  says,  will  give  them  all  the 
education  that  is  essential.  Persons  of  this  class 
seem  to  fancy  that  the  all-in-all  of  man  is  "  to 
get  on ; "  according  to  them,  to  elevate  men 
means,  chiefly,  to  improve  their  circumstances; 
and,  no  doubt,  they  would  look  with  infinite 
contempt  on  any  effort  such  as  this,  to  interest 
men  on  subjects  which,  most  assuredly,  will  not 
give  them  cheaper  food  or  higher  wages.  "  Lect- 
ure them,"  they  will  say,  "  on  the  principles  of 
political  economy,  in  order  to  stem,  if  possible, 
the  torrent  of  those  dangerous  opinions  that 
threatens  the  whole  fabric  of  society.  Give  them, 
if  you  will,  lectures  on  science,  on  chemistry,  on 
mechanics,  on  any  subject  which  bears  on  real 
and  actual  life ;  but,  really,  in  this  work-day  age, 
rhyming  is  out  of  place  and  out  of  date.  We 
have  no  time  for  Poetry  and  prettiness."  If,  in- 
deed, to  have  enough  to  eat  and  enough  to 
drink  were  the  whole  of  man — if  the  highest  life 
consisted  in  what  our  American  brethren  call 
"  going   a-head "  —  if    the    highest    ambition  for 


BY   REV.    F.    W.   ROBERTSON.  97 

Working  Men  were  the  triumph  of  some  polit- 
ical faction,  then,  assuredly,  the  discussion  of 
our  present  subject  would  be  waste  of  breath 
and  time.    • 

But  it  appears  to  me,  that  in  this  age  of 
Mechanics  and  Political  Economy,  when  every 
heart  seems  "  dry  as  summer  dust,"  what  we 
want  is,  not  so  much,  not  half  so  much — light 
for  the  intellect,  as  dew  upon  the  heart;  time 
and  leisure  to  cultivate  the  spirit  that  is  within 
us.  The  author  of  "  Philip  Van  Artevelde,"  in 
his  last  published  volume,  "  The  Eve  of  the  Con- 
quest," has  well  described  this  our  state  of  high 
physical  civilization  and  refinement,  in  which 
knowledge  is  mistaken  for  wisdom,  and  all  that 
belongs  to  man's  physical  comfort  and  temporal 
happiness  is  sedulously  cared  for,  while  much 
that  belongs  to  our  finer  and  purer  being  is  neg- 
lected—  an  age  of  grim  earnestness  —  not  the 
noble  earnestness  of  stern  Puritanism  for  high 
principles,  but  one  which  is  terrible  only  when 
the  purse  is  touched. 

"  Oh,  England !  '  Merry  England/  styled  of  yore  ! 

Where  is  thy  mirth  ?    Thy  jocund  laughter  where  ? 

The  sweat  of  labour  on  the  brow  of  care 
Makes  a  mute  answer:  driven  from  every  door. 
The  May-pole  cheers  the  village-green  no  more, 

Nor  harvest-home,  nor  Christmas  mummers  rare, 


98  LECTUEES  AND  ADDEESSES 

The  tired  mechanic  at  his  lecture  sighs, 
And  of  the  learned,  which,  with  all  his  lore, 
Has  leisure  to  be  wise  ?  " 

Whatever  objection  may  deservedly  belong  to 
this  Lecture,  I  hope  that  no  "  tired  mechanic " 
will  sigh  over  its  tediousness  or  solemnity.  I 
believe  that  recreation  is  a  holy  necessity  of 
man's  nature ;  and  it  seems  to  me  by  no  means 
unworthy  of  a  sacred  calling  to  bestow  an  hour 
on  the  attempt  to  impart  not  uninstructive  re- 
creation to  Working   Men. 

There  are  some  other  objections,  however,  con- 
nected with  the  subject,  which  must  be  noticed. 
Poetry  may  be  a  fitting  study  for  men  of  leisure, 
but  it  seems  out  of  the  question  for  Working 
Men  ; — a  luxury  for  the  rich,  but  to  attempt  to 
interest  the  poor  in  it,  is  as  much  out  of  place  as 
to  introduce  them  into  a  cabinet  of  curiosities,  or 
a  gallery  of  pictures.  I  believe  such  a  feeling 
has  arisen  partly  from  this  cause — that  the  Po- 
etry of  the  last  age  was  eminently  artificial,  un- 
natural, and  aristocratic ;  it  reflected  the  outer 
life  of  modern  society  and  its  manners,  which  are 
conventional,  uniform,  polished,  and  therefore  un- 
natural, and  not  of  general  human  interest.  I  will 
read  to  you  a  description  of  that  which  one  of  the 
poets  of  that  age  thought  to  be  the  legitimate 
call  and  mission  of  the  poet.  Thus  writes  Pope: — 


BY  REV.   F.   W.  ROBERTSON.  99 

"  Poetry  and  criticism  are  by  no  means  the  universal 
concern  of  the  world,  but  only  the  affair  of  idle  men  who 
write  in  their  closets,  and  of  idle  men  who  read  there  .... 

"All  the  advantages  I  can  think  of,  accruing  from  a  genius 
for  Poetry,  are  the  agreeable  power  of  self-amusement,  when 
a  man  is  idle  or  alone;  the  privilege  of  being  admitted  into 
the  best  company,  and  the  freedom  of  saying  as  many  care- 
less things  as  other  people  without  being  so  severely  re- 
marked on." 

You  will  scarcely  wonder  that  when  a  poet 
could  thus  write  of  his  art,  working  men  and 
real  men,  who  have  no  time  for  prettinesses,  and 
have  not  the  privilege  of  being  "  admitted  into 
the  best  company,"  should  be  indifferent  to  Po- 
etry, and  that  it  should  have  come  to  be  reck- 
oned among  the  luxuries  of  the  wealthy  and 
idle ;  nor  will  you  be  surprised  that  one  who 
thought  so  meanly  of  his  high  work  and  duty, 
should  never,  with  all  his  splendid  talents,  have 
attained  to  any  thing  in  Poetry  beyond  the  sec- 
ond rank,  that  in  which  thought  and  memory 
predominate  over  imagination,  and  in  which  the 
heart  is  second  to  the  head ;  for  much  of  Pope's 
Poetry  is  nothing  more  than  ethical  thoughts 
tersely  and  beautifully  expressed  in  rhyme. 

There  is  another  reason,  however,  for  this  mis- 
conception. The  Poetry  of  the  present  age  is, 
to  a  great  extent,  touched,  tainted  if  you  will, 
with  mysticism.     Let  us  trace  the  history  of  this. 


100         LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

A  vigorous  protest  was  made  at  last  against 
the  formalism  of  the  Poetry  of  the  last  century. 
The  reaction  began  with  Wordsworth,  Scott, 
and  Byron,  and  the  age  of  conventional  Poetry 
was  succeeded  by  the  Poetry  of  sentiment  and 
passion.  But,  by  degrees,  this  wave  also  spent 
itself ;  and  another  came.  Wordsworth  was  the 
poet  of  the  few ;  the  border  minstrelsy  of  Scott 
exhausted  itself  even  during  his  own  life ;  and 
when  that  long,  passionate  wail  of  Byronism 
had  died  away, — a  phase  of  tempestuous  feeling 
through  which  every  man,  I  suppose,  passes  in 
one  portion  or  other  of  his  existence — men  be- 
gan to  feel  that  this  life  of  ours  was  meant  for 
something  higher  than  for  a  man  to  sit  down  to 
rave  and  curse  his  destiny ;  that  it  is  at  least 
manlier,  if  it  be  bad,  to  make  the  best  of  it,  and 
do  what  may  be  done.  Next  came,  therefore, 
an  age  whose  motto  was  "  Work. "  But  now, 
by  degrees,  we  are  beginning  to  feel  that  even 
work  is  not  all  our  being  needs ;  and,  therefore, 
has  been  born  what  I  have  called  the  Poetry  of 
Mysticism.  For  just  as  the  reaction  from  the 
age  of  Formalism  was  the  Poetry  of  Passion,  so 
the  reaction  from  the  age  of  Science,  is,  and  I 
suppose  ever  will  be,  the  Poetry  of  Mysticism. 
For  men  who  have  felt  a  want  which  work  can- 
not  altogether    satisfy,   and    have    become    con- 


BY   REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  101 

scious  that  the  clear  formulas  and  accurate  tech- 
nicalities of  science  have  not  expressed,  nor  ever 
can,  the  truths  of  the  Soul,  find  a  refuge  in  that 
vagueness  and  undefined  sense  of  mystery  which 
broods  over  the  shapeless  borders  of  the  illimit- 
able. And  thus  the  very  mystic  obscurity  of 
thought  and  expression  which  belongs  to  Brown- 
ing, Tennyson,  and  even  Wordsworth,  is  a  ne- 
cessary phase  in  the  history  of  Poetry,  and  is  but 
a  protest  and  witness  for  the  infinite  in  the  soul 
of  man. 

For  these  two  reasons,  that  the  Poetry  of  the 
past  age  was  conventional  and  that  of  the  present 
mystical,  it  was  very  natural  that  Poetry  should 
have  come  to  be  reckoned  merely  an  amusement, 
suited  to  men  of  leisure.  But  it  was  not  always 
so :  Poetry  began,  not  in  the  most  highly  civilized, 
but  in  the  half-civilized  stages  of  society.  The 
Drama,  for  example,  was  first  acted  in  wagons 
drawn  through  the  Grecian  villages,  and  per- 
formed by  men  who  only  half-concealed  their 
personality  by  the  rude  expedient  of  smearing 
the  face  with  the  lees  of  wine.  And,  before  that, 
the  poems  of  Homer  had  been  recited  with  en- 
thusiasm in  the  villages  and  cities  of  Ionia,  by 
the  people.  The  poems  of  Burns,  himself  a  peas- 
ant, are  the  darling  favourites  of  the  Scottish 
peasant,  and  lie  with  his  Bible,  on  the  same  shelf. 


102  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

And  where  did  our  own  English  Poetry  begin, 
but  in  those  popular  ballads  of  which  you  have  a 
notable  example  in  the  epic  ballad  of  "  Chevy 
Chase  ?  "  Poetry  is  essentially  of  the  people,  and 
for  the  people. 

However,  it  will  be  granted,  perhaps,  that  the 
love  of  Poetry  is  compatible  with  an  incomplete 
education ;  but  hardly  with  a  want  of  leisure,  or 
with  hard  work.  To  this  1  reply,  first,  by  a  mat- 
ter of  fact :  the  works  of  Poetry  in  this  Institu- 
tion, since  the  loss  of  its  first  large  library,  are 
few ;  but  those  few  are  largely  read.  Upon  the 
librarian,  constant  demands  are  made  for  the 
works  of  Shakspeare  and  Sir  Walter  Scott. 

I  reply,  secondly :  I  know  something  myself  of 
hard  work ;  I  know  what  it  is  to  have  had  to  toil 
when  the  brain  was  throbbing,  the  mind  incapa- 
ble of  originating  a  thought,  and  the  body  worn 
and  sore  with  exhaustion  ;  and  I  know  what  it  is 
in  such  an  hour,  instead  of  having  recourse  to 
those  gross  stimulants  to  which  all  worn  men, 
both  of  the  higher  and  lower  classes,  are  tempted, 
to  take  down  my  Sophocles  or  my  Plato  (for 
Plato  was  a  poet),  my  Goethe,  or  my  Dante, 
Shakspeare,  Shelley,  Wordsworth,  or  Tennyson ; 
and  I  know  what  it  is  to  feel  the  jar  of  nerve 
gradually  cease,  and  the  darkness  in  which  all  life 
had  robed  itself  to  the  imagination  become  light, 


BY   REV.   F..W.   ROBERTSON.  103 

discord  pass  into  harmony,  and  physical  exhaus- 
tion rise  by  degrees  into  a  consciousness  of  power. 
I  cannot,  and  I  will  not,  believe  that  this  is  a  lux- 
ury, or  rather  a  blessed  privilege,  reserved  for  me, 
or  my  class,  or  caste,  alone.  If  I  know  from  per- 
sonal experience — and  I  do  know — that  feelings 
such  as  these,  call  them  romantic  if  you  will,  can 
keep  a  man  all  his  youth  through,  before  a  higher 
Faith  has  been  called  into  being,  from  every  spe- 
cies of  vicious  and  low  indulgence,  in  every 
shape  and  every  form, — if  I  believe  that  there 
are  thousands, 

"  Whose  hearts  the  holy  forms 
Of  young  imagination  have  kept  pure," 

I  am  compelled  also  to  believe  that,  as  that  which 
is  human  belongs  to  all  humanity,  so  there  is 
power  in  this  pursuit  to  enable  the  man  of  labour 
to  rise  sometimes  out  of  his  dull,  dry,  hard  toil, 
and  dreary  routine  of  daily  life,  into  forgetfulness 
of  his  state,  to  breathe  a  higher  and  serener,  and 
purer  atmosphere.  I  will  believe  that  for  him, 
too,  there  is  an 

"  Appeal  to  that  imaginative  power, 
Which  can  commute  a  sentence  of  sore  pain 
Tor  one  of  softer  sadness." 

Some  years  ago,  an  Irishman,  scarcely  above  a 
peasant  in  rank,  was  employed  on  the  Ordnance 

*         13 


104  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

Survey,  under  an  officer  of  Engineers,  in  Suffolk, 
where  I  then  was.  I  remember  the  description  he 
gave  me  of  the  state  of  the  Irish  peasantry,  and 
the  scenes  of  wretchedness  I  had  not  then  wit- 
nessed :  "  Their  cabins,  your  honour,"  said  he, 
"  are  in  such  a  state  sometimes,  that  the  poor 
craturs  could  count  the  stars  as  they  lay  on  their 
beds." 

I  am  not  prepared  to  dispute  that  it  might  have 
been  better  for  the  Irish  peasant  if,  instead  of 
lying  on  his  bed  counting  the  stars  and  cursing 
the  Saxon,  he  had  got  up  and  mended  his  roof; 
nor  will  I  enter  into  the  question  whether  seven 
hundred  years  of  English  misrule  have  darkened 
all  hope  in  the  nation's  breast,  and  left  them 
neither  heart  nor  spirit  to  mend  and  patch  a 
hopeless  lot ;  but  I  think  you  will  agree  with  me, 
that  a  hard-working  man,  to  whose  imagination 
the  thought  which  spontaneously  presented  itself 
on  the  sight  of  a  roofless  hut,  was,  not  that  of 
dripping  rain  or  driving  winds,  but  of  poor  crea- 
tures lying  on  their  beds  to  count  the  stars,  who 
could  get  away  from  discomfort  to  expatiate  in 
the  skies,  was,  to  some  extent,  through  his  im- 
agination and  his  poetry,  independent  of  external 
circumstances.  V* 

By  the  title  of  this  Lecture  I  am  bound  to 
define,   in    the   first    place,   what    is    meant    by 


BY  REV.  F.  W.  ROBERTSON.  105 

"Poetry;"  and,  in  the  second,  to  endeavour  to 
sustain  the  assertion  "that  it  has  a  powerful 
influence  on  the  Working  Classes." 

The  former  of  these  is  the  subject  of  this  first 
Lecture.  Our  first  definition  of  Poetry  is — the 
natural  language  of  excited  feeling.  When  a 
man  is  under  the  influence  of  some  strong  emo- 
tion, his  language,  words,  demeanour,  become 
more  elevated;  he  is  twice  the  man  he  was. 
And  not  only  his  words,  and  posture,  and  looks, 
but  the  whole  character  and  complexion  of  his 
thoughts  are  changed.  They  belong  to  a  higher 
order  of  imagination,  and  are  more  full  of  sym- 
bolism, and  imagery ;  the  reason  of  which  is — 
that  all  the  passions  deal  not  with  the  limitations 
of  time  and  space,  but  belong  to  a  world  which 
is  infinite.  The  strong  passions,  whether  good 
or  bad,  never  calculate.  Anger,  for  example,  does 
not  ask  for  satisfaction  in  gold  and  silver;  it 
feels  and  resents  a  wrong  that  is  infinite ;  Love 
demands  the  eternal  blessedness  of  the  thing 
loved — it  feels,  and  delights  to  feel  that  it  is  itself 
infinite,  and  can  never  end ;  Revenge  is  not  sat- 
isfied with  temporary  pain,  but  imprecates  the 
perdition  of  the  offender. 

^And  so,  these  passions  of  ours,  uncalculating, 
and  outlaws  of  time  and  space,  disdaining  the 
bounds  of  the  universe, 


106  LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES 

"  Glancing  from  heaven  to  earth,  from  earth  to  heaven," 
never  argue,  but  reach  at  a  single  bound  the 
eternal  truth,  discover  unexpected  analogies  hid- 
den before  through  all  the  universe,  and  sub- 
ordinate each  special  case  to  some  great  and 
universal  law. 

Hence,  the  language  of  strong  emotion  is  al- 
ways figurative,  symbolical,  and  rich  in  meta- 
phors. For  the  metaphors  of  Poetry  are  not 
mere  ornaments  stuck  on,  and  capable  of  being 
taken  off  without  detriment  to  the  essence  of  the 
thought.  They  are  not  what  the  clothes  are  to 
the  body,  but  what  the  body  is  to  the  life — born 
with  it;  the  form  in  which  the  life  has  been 
clothed,  without  which  the  life  would  have  been 
impossible ;  just  as  Minerva  is  fabled  by  the  an- 
cients to  have  risen  in  full  panoply  out  of  the 
brain  of  Jupiter. 

Poetry,  I  have  said,  is  the  natural  language  of 
excited  feeling.  It  is  not  something  invented  or 
artificial,  but  that  in  which  excited  feeling  nat- 
urally clothes  itself.  Now  take  an  example. 
When  the  Pragmatic  Sanction  was  violated  on 
all  sides  in  Europe,  when  Silesia  had  been  wrested 
away  by  the  young  King  of  Prussia,  and,  with 
the  assistance  and  sanction  of  the  French,  the 
Elector  of  Bavaria  was  aiming  at  the  Crown  of 
the   Empire,  the  Empress  Maria  Theresa  threw 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  107 

herself  on  her  Hungarian  subjects.  "We  are  told 
that  when,  robed  in  black,  she  appeared  in  the 
Diet,  with  her  child  in  her  arms,  and  asked  their 
assistance,  the  Hungarian  nobles  rose,  and  with 
one  voice,  exclaimed,  "  Let  us  die  for  our  King, 
Maria  Theresa !  "  Observe  the  poetry  of  the  ex- 
pression, "  our  King  Maria  Theresa."  No  calcu- 
lation in  that  moment ;  no  mercenary  sordidness, 
balancing  the  question  whether  a  nation  could 
afford  to  defend  weakness  and  honour  at  the  ex- 
pense of  a  costly  war,  or  not.  They  had  risen  in 
one  moment  of  strong  emotion  to  the  highest 
truth  of  human  existence,  the  Law  of  Sacrifice ; 
they  had  penetrated  into  that  region  in  which 
kingly  qualities  had  blended  together  the  two 
sexes,  and  broken  down  the  whole  barrier  of  dis- 
tinction between  man  and  woman ;  that  region 
in  which  tenderness  and  loyalty  are  not  two,  but 
one :  "  Let  us  die  for  our  King,  Maria  Theresa !  " 
You  will  perceive  from  this  that  there  is  an 
element  of  poetry  in  us  all.  Whatever  wakes  up 
intense  sensibilities,  puts  you  for  a  moment  into 
a  poetic  state ;  if  not  the  creative  state,  that  in 
which  we  can  make  poetry,  at  least  the  receptive 
state  in  which  we  feel  poetry.  Therefore,  let  no 
man  think  that,  because  he  cannot  appreciate  the 
verse  of  Milton  or  Wordsworth,  there  is  no  poetry 
in  his  soul ;  let  him  be  assured  that  there  is  some- 

13* 


108  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

thing  within  him  which  may  any  day  awake, 
break  through  the  crust  of  his  selfishness,  and 
redeem  him  from  a  low,  mercenary,  or  sensual 
existence. 

Any  man  who  has  for  a  single  moment  felt 
those  emotions  which  are  uncalculating,  who  has 
ever  risked  his  life  for  the  safety  of  another,  or 
met  some  great  emergency  with  unwavering  cour- 
age, or  felt  his  whole  being  shaken  with  mighty 
and  unutterable  indignation  against  some  base 
cruelty  or  cowardly  scoundrelism,  knows  what  I 
mean  when  I  say  that  there  is  something  in  him 
which  is  infinite,  and  which  can  transport  him  in 
a  moment  into  the  same  atmosphere  which  the 
poet  breathes. 

"  High  instincts,"  Wordsworth  calls  them, 

"  Before  which  our  mortal  nature 
Did  tremble,  like  a  guilty  thing  surprised : 

those  first  affections, 

Those  shadowy  recollections 

Which,  be  they  what  they  may, 

Are  yet  the  Fountain-light  of  all  our  day, 
Are  yet  the  master-light  of  all  our  seeing : 

Uphold  us,  cherish,  and  have  power  to  make 
Our  noisy  years  seem  moments  in  the  being 

Of  the  Eternal  Silence.     Truths  that  wake, 
To  perish  never." 

Shakspeare,  wTho  knew  all  that  man  can  feel, 


BY   REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  109 

and  the  times  when  he  feels  it,  is  here,  as  usual, 
true  to  nature.  You  must  have  observed  that  he 
never  puts  language  highly  imaginative,  what  we 
call  Poetry,  int6  the  lips  of  any  except  exalted 
characters,  who  may  be  supposed  to  live  in  Poetry, 
or  persons  who,  for  the  time,  are  under  some  ex- 
citing influence.  If  you  will  compare  the  manner 
and  expression  of  Timon  of  Athens,  through  the 
earlier  acts,  with  his  language  in  the  latter  part  of 
the  Play,  you  will  see  how  he  becomes  another 
man  under  the  influence  of  a  powerful  passion. 
At  first,  you  have  the  high-born,  high-bred  gentle- 
man, magnificent  in  his  liberality,  and  princely  in 
his  tastes,  bestowing  a  fortune  on  a  dependent 
whose  poverty  is  the  sole  bar  to  a  happy  mar- 
riage, giving  away  the  bay  courser  to  his  guest 
because  he  admired  it ;  the  munificent  patron  of 
the  arts,  using  the  conventional  language  and  the 
flat,  dead  politeness  of  polished  society,  with  no 
strong  feeling  of  life,  because  nothing  has  broken 
the  smoothness  of  its  current.  But  the  shock 
comes.  In  temporary  reverses  he  begins  to  feel 
the  hollowness  of  friendship,  suspects  that  men 
and  women  are  not  what  they  seem ;  and  then, 
with  that  passionate  scorn  which  henceforth 
marks  his  character,  the  real  poetry  of  Timon's 
existence  begins.  And  this  is  made  the  more 
remarkable   by  the  relief  in  which  his  character 


110  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

stands  out  from  the  contrast  between  two  misan- 
thropes in  the  same  Play.  One  is  the  generous 
Timon,  who  has  despaired  of  men  because  he 
has  not  found  them  what  he  expected  them  to 
be;  the  other,  the  self-enclosed  Apemantus,  who 
believes  in  the  meanness  of  all  human  natures 
because  he  is  mean  himself.  Even  when  the  two 
reciprocate  abuse,  the  distinction  is  preserved. 
Apemantus  is  merely  scurrilous — "  beast "  and 
"  toad  "  are  the  epithets  of  his  vocabulary.  One 
pregnant  word,  alive  with  meaning,  falls  from 
Timon's  lips — "  Slave."  And  then,  disappointed 
in  his  best  and  highest  affections,  the  whole  uni- 
verse appears  to  his  disordered  imagination  over- 
spread with  the  guilt  of  his  wrongs :  earth  and 
skies  and  sea  are  robbers ;  yet  his  scorn  is  lofty 
still ;  even  gold,  the  general  seducer,  he  does  not 
curse  with  the  low  invective  of  the  conventicle. 
Listen  to  the  impassioned  scorner  : — 

"  Thou  ever  young,  fresh,  lov'd,  and  delicate  wooer, 
Whose  blush  doth  thaw  the  consecrated  snow 
That  lies  on  Dian's  lap  !     Thou  visible  god, 
That  solder'st  close  impossibilities, 

And  mak'st  them  kiss  !     That  speak'st  with  every  tongue 
To  every  purpose  !     O,  thou  touch  of  hearts  \" 

It  is  poetry  throughout — passion  rendered  im- 
aginative ;  scorn,  as  contrasted  with  mere  spite. 
In  saying,  however,  that  Poetry  is  the  language 


BY  REV.  F.  W.  ROBERTSON.  Ill 

of  excited  feeling,  by  excitement  is  not  to  be 
understood  mere  violence  or  vehemence ;  but  in- 
tensity. It  is  with  accurate  knowledge  of  human 
nature  that  Philip  Van  Artevelde  says  to  Sir 
Fleureant,  who  is  imploring  forgiveness  with 
vehement  self-reproach :  "  Thou  art  a  weak,  in- 
constant, violent  man."  Weakness  and  violence 
often  go  together.  Passion  may  be  violent;  as 
in  the  case  of  Othello,  Lear,  and  Northumber- 
land ;  it  does  not  follow  that  it  must ;  vehemence 
is  simply  dependent  on  physical  organization,  a 
mere  matter  of  brain  and  nerve.  Indeed,  the 
most  intense  feeling  is  generally  the  most  sub- 
dued and  calm ;  for  it  is  necessarily  condensed 
by  repression.  A  notable  example  you  have  in 
Wordsworth,  the  calmest  of  poets ;  so  much  so, 
that  I  have  heard  him  characterized  as  a  Quaker 
among  poets.  And  yet  he  is  the  author  of  the 
sublimest  ode  in  the  English  language,  the  Inti- 
mations of  immortality  from  the  recollections  of 
childhood.  And  for  his  intensity,  I  only  appeal 
to  those  who  have  understood  his  poetry,  felt, 
and  loved  it. 

Yet  even  in  this  apparent  exception  we  have  a 
corroboration  of  the  rule.  Intense  as  Words- 
worth is,  there  is  in  him  something  wanting  for 
the  very  highest  poetry.  He  is  too  calm.  There 
is  a  want  of  passion  ;  and  hence  an  entire  ab- 


112  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

sence  of  epic  as  well  as  dramatic  power ;  he 
reflects  when  he  ought  to  describe,  and  describes 
feeling  when  he  ought  to  exhibit  its  manifesta- 
tion. He  sings  of  our  nature  as  some  philosophic 
spirit  might  sing  of  it  in  passionless  realms  of 
contemplation,  far  away  from  the  discords  of 
actual  existence,  of  a  humanity  purged  and  puri- 
fied, separate  from  the  fierce  feelings  and  wild 
gusts  of  passion  which  agitate  real  human  life. 
And  therefore  Wordsworth  never  can  be  popular 
in  the  true  sense  of  the  word.  His  works  will  be 
bought  and  bound  richly,  and  a  few  of  his  poems 
will  be  familiar  words ;  but  still  he  will  remain 
the  poet  of  the  few ;  acknowledged  by  the  many, 
only  because  he  is  reverenced  by  the  few ;  those 
discerning  few  whose  verdict  slowly,  but  surely, 
leads  the  world  at  last. 

I  have  said  that  Poetry  is  the  natural  language 
of  intense  feeling.  It  is  in  perfect  accordance 
with  this  that  the  great  master  of  all  criticism, 
Aristotle,  divides  Poetry  into  two  orders.  He 
says  a  poet  must  be  one  of  two  things — a  "  fren- 
zied man,"  or  an  "  accomplished  man ;  "  in  which 
single  sentence  are  contained  whole  volumes. 
There  are  two  kinds  of  poets  ;  the  one  inspired, 
and  the  other  skilful ;  the  one  borne  away  by  his 
own  feelings,  of  which  he  is  scarcely  master ;  the 
other  able  rather  to  conceive  feelings  and  simulate 


BY  REV.   F.   W.  ROBERTSON.  113 

their  expression,  than  possessed  by,  or  possessing 
them. 

Hence  it  is  almost  proverbial  that  the  poetic 
temperament,  except  in  a  few  cases  of  felicitously 
organized  constitution,  and  rare  equilibrium  of 
powers,  is  one  of  singular  irritability  of  brain  and 
nerve. 

Even  the  placid  "Wordsworth  says — 

"  We  poets  in  our  youth  begin  with  gladness ; 

But  thereof  come  in  the  end  despondency  and  madness." 

And  by  this,  too,  we  can  understand,  and  com- 
passionate, I  do  not  say  excuse,  the  force  of  that 
temptation  of  stimulants  to  which  so  many  gifted 
natures  have  fallen  a  sacrifice.  Poetry  is  the  lan- 
guage of  excited  feeling ;  properly  of  pure  excite- 
ment. But  stimulants,  like  wine,  opium,  and 
worse,  can  produce,  or  rather  simulate,  that  state 
of  rapturous  and  ecstatic  feeling  in  which  the  seer 
should  live;  in  which  emotions  succeed  each  other 
swiftly,  and  imagination  works  with  preternatural 
power.     Hence  their  seductive  power. 

Our  higher  feelings  move  our  animal  nature ; 
and  our  animal  nature,  irritated,  can  call  back  a 
semblance  of  those  emotions  ;  but  the  whole  dif- 
ference between  nobleness  and  baseness  lies  in 
the  question  whether  feeling  begins  from  below 
or  above.     The  degradation  of  genius,  like  the 


114  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

sensualizing  of  passion,  takes  place  when  men 
hope  to  reproduce,  through  stimulus  of  the  lower 
nature,  those  glorious  sensations  which  it  once 
experienced  when  vivified  from  above.  Imagi- 
nation ennobles  appetites  which  in  themselves 
are  low,  and  spiritualizes  acts  which  are  else  only 
animal.  But  the  pleasures  which  beg-in  in  the 
senses  only  sensualize. 

Burns  and  Coleridge  are  the  awful  beacons  to 
all  who  feel  intensely,  and  are  tempted  to  rekindle 
the  vestal  flames  of  genius,  when  they  burn  low, 
with  earthly  fire. 

I  give  another  definition  of  Poetry.  I  think  I 
have  seen  it  defined — I  am  not  sure  whether  I 
have  confounded  my  own  thoughts  with  what  I 
have  a  dim  recollection  of  having  somewhere 
read — as  "  the  indirect  expression  of  feelings  that 
cannot  be  expressed  directly."  We  all  have  feel- 
ings which  we  cannot  express.  There  is  a  world 
into  which  the  poet  introduces  us,  of  which  the 
senses  are  not  the  organs ;  there  is  a  beauty 
which  the  eye  has  never  seen,  and  a  music  which 
the  ear  has  never  heard.  There  are  truths,  eter- 
nally, essentially,  and  necessarily  true,  which  we 
have  never  yet  seen  embodied.  And  there  is, 
besides,  from  our  human  sympathies,  a  strong 
necessity  for  giving  utterance  to  these  cravings  in 
us.     For  language  has  been  given,  not  merely  to 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  115 

make  known  our  own  selfish  wants,  but  to  impart 
ourselves  to  our  fellow  men.  Now,  if  these  in- 
tense feelings  could  be  expressed  directly,  so  that 
when  you  expressed  them,  you  felt  yourself  under- 
stood as  adequately  as  when  you  say  "  I  thirst," 
or  "  I  am  hungry,"  then  there  would  be  no  Poetry 
at  all ;  but,  because  this  is  impossible,  the  soul 
clothes  her  intuitions,  her  aspirations,  and  fore- 
bodings, in  those  indirect  images  which  she  bor- 
rows from  the  material  world. 

For  this  reason  the  earliest  language  of  all 
nations  is  Poetry.  Language  has  been  truly 
called  fossil  Poetry;  and  just  as  we  apply  to 
domestic  use  slabs  of  marble,  unconscious  almost 
that  they  contain  the  petrifactions  of  innumerable 
former  lives,  so  in  our  every-day  language  we  use 
the  living  Poetry  of  the  past,  unconscious  that 
our  simplest  expressions  are  the  fossil  forms  of 
feeling  which  once  was  vague,  and  laboured  to 
express  itself  in  the  indirect  analogies  of  material- 
ism. Only  think  from  whence  came  such  words 
as  "  attention,"  "understanding,"  "imagination." 

As  language  becomes  more  forcible  and  ade- 
quate, and  our  feelings  are  conveyed,  or  supposed 
to  be  conveyed,  entirely,  Poetry  in  words  becomes 
more  rare.  It  is  then  only  the  deeper  and  rarer 
feelings,  as  yet  unexpressed,  which  occupy  the 
poet.     Science   destroys    Poetry ;  until  the  heart 

14 


116         LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

bursts  into  mysticism,  and  out  of  science  brings 
Poetry  again  ;  asserting  a  wonder  and  a  vague 
mystery  of  life  and  feeling,  beneath  and  beyond 
all  science,  and  proclaiming  the  wonderfulness 
and  mystery  of  that  which  we  seem  most  famil- 
iarly to  understand. 

I  proceed  to  give  you  illustrations  of  this  posi- 
tion, that  "  Poetry  is  the  indirect  expression  of 
that  which  cannot  be  expressed  directly."  An 
American  writer  tells  us  that  in  a  certain  town  in 
America  there  is  a  statue  of  a  sleeping  boy, 
which  is  said  to  produce  a  singular  feeling  of  re- 
pose in  all  who  gaze  on  it ;  and  the  history  of 
that  statue,  he  says,  is  this  :  The  sculptor  gazed 
upon  the  skies  on  a  summer's  morning,  which 
had  arisen  as  serene  and  calm  as  the  blue  eternity 
out  of  which  it  came  ;  he  went  about  haunted 
with  the  memory  of  that  repose — it  was  a  neces- 
sity to  him  to  express  it.  Had  he  been  a  poet,  he 
would  have  thrown  it  into  words ;  a  painter,  it 
would  have  found  expression  on  the  canvas ;  had 
he  been  an  architect,  he  would  have  given  us  his 
feelings  embodied  as  the  builders  of  the  Middle 
Ages  embodied  their  aspirations,  in  a  Gothic 
architecture ;  but  being  a  sculptor,  his  pen  was 
the  chisel,  his  words  stone,  and  so  he  threw  his 
thoughts  into  the  marble.  Now  observe,  first,  this 
was   intense   feeling  longing   to   express    itself; 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  117 

next,  it  was  intense  feeling  expressing  itself  indi- 
rectly, direct  utterance  being  denied  it.  It  was 
not  enough  to  say,  "  I  feel  repose ; "  infinitely- 
more  was  to  be  said  ;  more  than  any  words  could 
exhaust:  the  only  material  through  which  he 
could  shape  it,  and  give  to  airy  nothing  a  body 
and  a  form,  was  the  imperfectly  expressive  mate- 
rial of  stone. 

From  this  anecdote  we  may  understand  in  what 
sense  all  the  high  arts,  such  as  Sculpture,  Paint- 
ing, and  Poetry,  have  been  called  imitative  arts. 
There  was  no  resemblance  between  the  sleeping 
boy  and  a  calm  morning ;  but  there  was  a  resem- 
blance between  the  feeling'  produced  by  the  morn- 
ing, and  that  produced  by  gazing  on  the  statue. 
And  it  is  in  this  resemblance  between  the  feeling 
conceived  by  the  artist,  and  the  feeling  produced 
by  his  work,  that  the  imitation  of  Poetry  or  Art 
lies.  The  fruit  which  we  are  told  was  painted  by 
the  ancient  artist  so  well  that  the  birds  came  and 
pecked  at  it,  and  the  curtain  painted  by  his  rival 
so  like  reality  that  he  himself  was  deceived  by  it, 
were  imitative  so  far  as  clever  deception  imitates ; 
but  it  was  not  high  art,  any  more  than  the  statue 
which  many  of  you  saw  in  the  Exhibition  last 
year  was  high  art,  which  at  a  distance  seemed 
covered  with  a  veil,  but  on  nearer  approach  turned 
out  to  be  mere  deceptive  resemblance  of  the  text- 


118  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

ure,  cleverly  executed  in  stone.  This  is  not  the 
poetry  of  Art ;  it  is  only  the  imitation  of  one 
species  of  material  in  another  species  ;  whereas 
Poetry  is  the  imitating,  by  suggestion  through 
material  and  form,  of  feelings  which  are  imma- 
terial and  formless. 

Another  instance.  At  Blenheim,  the  seat  of 
the  Duke  of  Marlborough,  there  is  a  Madonna, 
into  which  the  old  Catholic  painter  has  tried  to 
cast  the  religious  conceptions  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
virgin  purity  and  infinite  repose.  The  look  is 
upwards,  the  predominant  colour  of  the  picture 
blue,  which  we  know  has  in  itself  a  strange  power 
to  lull  and  soothe.  It  is  impossible  to  gaze  on 
this  picture  without  being  conscious  of  a  calming 
influence.  During  that  period  of  the  year  in 
which  the  friends  of  the  young  men  of  Oxford 
come  to  visit  their  brothers  and  sons,  and  Blen- 
heim becomes  a  place  of  favourite  resort,  I  have 
stood  aside  near  that  picture,  to  watch  its  effect 
on  the  different  gazers,  and  I  have  seen  group 
after  group  of  young  undergraduates  and  ladies, 
full  of  life  and  noisy  spirits,  unconsciously  stilled 
before  it ;  the  countenance  relaxing  into  calmness, 
and  the  voice  sinking  to  a  whisper.  The  painter 
had  spoken  his  message,  and  human  beings,  ages 
after,  feel  what  he  meant  to  say. 

You  may  perhaps  have  seen  in  this  town,  some 


BY   REV.  F.  W.   ROBERTSON.  119 

years  ago,  an  engraving  in  the  windows  of  the 
printsellersj  called  the  "  Camel  of  the  Desert."  I 
cannot  say  it  was  well  executed.  The  engraving 
was  coarse,  and  the  drawing,  in  some  points, 
false ;  yet  it  was  full  of  Poetry.  The  story  tells 
itself.  A  caravan  has  passed  through  the  desert ; 
one  of  the  number  has  been  seized  with  danger- 
ous illness,  and  as  time  is  precious,  he  has  been 
left  to  die,  but  as  there  is  a  chance  of  his  recov- 
ery, his  camel  has  been  left  beside  him,  and  in 
order  that  it  may  not  escape,  the  knee  of  the  ani- 
mal has  been  forcibly  bent,  the  upper  and  lower 
bones  tied  together,  and  the  camel  couched  on  the 
ground  incapable  of  rising.  The  sequel  is  that 
the  man  has  died,  and  the  camel  is  left  to  its 
inevitable  doom.  There  is  nothing  to  break  the 
deep  deathfulness  of  the  scene.  The  desert  ex- 
tends to  the  horizon,  without  interruption,  the 
glowing  heat  being  shown  by  the  reflection  of  the 
sun  from  the  sands  in  a  broad  band  of  light,  just 
as  it  glows  on  the  sea  on  a  burning  summer  day. 
Nothing,  I  said,  breaks  the  deathfulness  of  the 
scene  ;  there  is  only  one  thing  that  adds  to  it.  A 
long  line  of  vultures  is  seen  in  the  distance,  and 
one  of  these  loathsome  birds  is  hovering  above 
the  dead  and  the  doomed  ;  the  camel  bends  back 
his  neck  to  watch  it,  with  an  expression  of  terror 
and  anguish  aimost  human,  and    anticipates  its 

14* 


120  LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES 

doom.  You  cannot  look  at  the  print  without  a 
vivid  sense  and  conception  of  Despair.  You  go 
through  street  after  street  before  the  impression 
ceases  to  haunt  you.  Had  the  plate  been  better 
executed,  it  is  quite  possible  it  might  not  have 
been  so  poetical.  The  very  rudeness  and  vague- 
ness of  it  leave  much  to  the  imagination.  Had 
the  plumage  of  the  vulture,  or  the  hair  of  the 
camel  more  accurately  copied  the  living  text- 
ure, or  the  face  of  the  corpse  been  more  death- 
like, so  as,  instead  of  kindling  the  imagination 
with  the  leading  idea,  to  have  drawn  away  the 
attention  to  the  fidelity  with  which  the  accessories 
had  been  painted,  the  Poetry  would  have  been 
lessened.  It  is  the  effort  to  express  a  feeling,  and 
the  obstacles  in  the  way  of  the  expression,  which 
together  constitute  the  poetical. 

Most  of  us  visited  the  Exhibition  in  Hyde 
Park,  last  year.  Some  may  have  seen  between 
the  central  fountain  and  the  Colebrook  Dale 
gates  several  cases  of  stuffed  birds,  and  probably 
passed  on  after  a  cursory  glance.  If  so,  it  was  a 
pity,  for  there  was  much  Poetry  in  those  cases. 
They  contained  a  series  illustrative  of  falconry.* 
In  the  first  case  was  a  gyr-falcon,  hooded  ;  in  the 
second,  the  falcon  has  struck  his  quarry,  and  the 

*  Contributed  to  the  Exhibition  by  Mr.  Hancock,  of  New- 
castle-upon-Tyne. 


BY   REV.   F.    W.   ROBERTSON.  121 

heron  lies  below  with  ruffled  crest,  and  open  beak, 
and  writhing,  serpentine  neck,  the  falcon  mean- 
while fixing  his  talons  deep,  and  throwing  himself 
backwards  with  open  wings  to  avoid  the  formi- 
dable beak.  In  the  third,  the  falcon  sits  gorged 
upon  its  perch. 

I  have  visited  the  finest  museums  in  Europe, 
and  spent  many  a  long  day  in  watching  the  hab- 
its of  birds  in  the  woods,  hidden  and  unseen  by 
them ;  but  I  never  saw  the  reproduction  of  life 
till  I  saw  these.  It  was  not  merely  the  exquisite 
arrangement  of  the  feathers,  nor  merely  that  the 
parts  which  are  usually  dry  and  shrunk  in  pre- 
served specimens,  the  beak  and  the  orbits,  the 
tongue  and  the  legs,  were  -preserved  with  a  mar- 
vellous freshness  ;  it  was  not  the  mere  softness 
of  every  swell,  and  the  graceful  rise  and  bend 
wherever  rise  and  bend  should  be,  but  it  was  the 
life  and  feeling  thrown  into  the  whole,  that  digni- 
fied these  works  as  real  Art.  They  were  vitalized 
by  the  feeling,  not  of  the  mere  bird-stuffer,  but  of 
the  poet,  who  had  sympathized  with  nature,  felt 
the  life  in  birds  as  something  kindred  with  his 
own ;  and  inspired  with  this  sympathy,  and 
labouring  to  utter  it,  had  thus  re-created  life  as  it 
were  within  the  very  grasp  of  death. 

And  while  on  this  subject,  I  may  give  you 
another  illustration,  by  which  you  will  perceive 


122  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

the  difference  between  Science  and  Poetry,  in  the 
works,  if  you  have  ever  time  to  read  them,  pub- 
lished in  a  cheap  form,  of  Wilson,  the  American 
ornithologist.  "Wilson  was  born  at  Paisley  ;  his 
first  poetic  inspiration  came  from  the  perusal  of 
the  works  of  his  countryman,  Burns.  He  emi- 
grated to  America,  and  there  devoted  his  life  to 
ornithology.  He  studied  the  life  of  birds  in  their 
native  haunts,  and  the  result  wTas  a  work  wThich 
stands  amongst  the  foremost  in  its  own  depart- 
ment, and  which  one  of  the  greatest  ornitholo- 
gists of  the  day,  Prince  Lucien  Bonaparte,  has 
felt  it  an  honour  to  arrange  scientifically.  Wil- 
son's enthusiasm  and  imaginative  temperament 
are  manifested  in  the  singular  wish  that  when  he 
died  he  might  be  buried  in  the  woods,  where  the 
birds  would  sing  above  his  grave.  And  all  his 
writing  is  full  of  this  living  sympathy  with  life, 
and  poetic  power  of  perceiving  analogies :  as 
when  he  calls  the  Arctic  Owl  "  that  great  north- 
ern Hunter,"  or  describes  the  Goat-sucker's  dis- 
covery of  the  robbery  of  her  nest.  Whoever  has 
read  his  works,  or  Waterton's  WTanderings,  or 
that  sweet,  observing  description  given  by  Ban- 
quo,  in  Macbeth,  of  the  swallow's  haunts  and 
dispositions,  and  will  compare  the  aspect  in 
which  life  appeared  to  them  with  that  in  which 
it   presents  itself  to  the    mind  of  the   scientific 


BY  REV.  F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  123 

nomenclator,  will  understand  the  different  ways 
in  which  Intellect  and  Feeling  represent  the  same 
objects,  and  how  it  is  that  largeness  of  sympathy 
distinguishes  poetic  sensibility  from  scientific 
capacity.  Poetry  creates  life ;  Science  dissects 
death. 

Our  present  definition  will  help  to  explain  why 
all  the  scenes  of  nature  are  poetic  and  dear  to  us. 
They  express  what  is  in  us,  and  what  we  cannot 
express  for  ourselves.  I  love  those  passages  in 
the  Bible  which  speak  of  this  universe  as  created 
by  the  Word  of  God.  For  the  Word  is  the  ex- 
pression of  the  thought ;  and  the  visible  universe 
is  the  Thought  of  the  Eternal,  uttered  in  a  word 
or  form  in  order  that  it  might  be  intelligible  to 
man.  And  for  an  open  heart  and  a  seeing  eye 
it  is  impossible  to  gaze  on  this  creation  without 
feeling  that  there  is  a  Spirit  at  work,  a  living 
Word  endeavouring  to  make  himself  intelligi- 
ble, labouring'  to  express  himself  through  sym- 
bolism and  indirect  expression,  because  direct 
utterance  is  impossible ;  partly  on  account  of  the 
inadequacy  of  the  materials,  and  partly  in  conse- 
quence of  the  dulness  of  the  heart,  to  which  the 
infinite  Love  is  speaking.  And  thus  the  word 
poet  obtains  its  literal  significance  of  maker,  and 
all  visible  things  become  to  us  the  chaunted 
poem  of  the  universe. 


124  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

These  feelings,  of  course,  come  upon  us  most 
vividly  in  what  we  call  the  sublime  scenes  of 
nature.  I  wish  I  could  give  to  the  Working  Men 
in  this  room  one  conception  of  what  I  have  seen 
and  witnessed,  or  bring  the  emotions  of  those 
glorious  spots  to  the  hearts  of  those  who  cannot 
afford  to  see  them.  I  wish  I  could  describe  one 
scene,  which  is  passing  before  my  memory  this 
moment,  when  I  found  myself  alone  in  a  soli- 
tary valley  of  the  Alps,  without  a  guide,  and  a 
thunder-storm  coming  on ;  I  wish  I  could  explain 
how  every  circumstance  combined  to  produce  the 
same  feeling,  and  ministered  to  unity  of  impres- 
sion :  the  slow,  wild  wreathing  of  the  vapours 
round  the  peaks,  concealing  their  summits,  and 
imparting  in  semblance  their  own  motion,  till 
each  dark  mountain  form  seemed  to  be  myste- 
rious and  alive;  the  eagle-like  plunge  of  the 
Lammer-geier,  the  bearded  vulture  of  the  Alps; 
the  rising  of  the  flock  of  choughs,  which  I  had 
surprised  at  their  feast  on  carrion,  with  their  red 
beaks  and  legs,  and  their  wild  shrill  cries,  start- 
ling the  solitude  and  silence, — till  the  blue  light- 
ning streamed  at  last,  and  the  shattering  thunder 
crashed  as  if  the  mountains  must  give  way :  and 
then  came  the  feelings,  which  in  their  fulness 
man  can  feel  but  once  in  life  ;  mingled  sensations 
of  awe   and   triumph,   and   defiance   of  danger, 


BY   REV.   F.   W.    ROBERTSON.  125 

pride,  rapture,  contempt  of  pain,  humbleness  and 
intense  repose,  as  if  all  the  strife  and  struggle 
of  the  elements  were  only  uttering  the  unrest  of 
man's  bosom ;  so  that  in  all  such  scenes  there  is 
a  feeling  of  relief,  and  he  is  tempted  to  cry  out 
exultingly,  There  !  there  !  all  this  was  in  my  heart, 
and  it  was  never  said  out  till  now  ! 

But  do  not  fancy  that  Poetry  belongs  to  the 
grander  scenes  of  nature  only.  The  poets  have 
taught  us  that  throughout  the  whole  world  there 
is  a  significance  as  deep  as  that  which  belongs  to 
the  more  startling  forms,  through  which  Power 
speaks. 

Burns  will  show  you  the  Poetry  of  the  daisy, 

"  Wee,  modest,  crimson-tippit  flower," 

which  the  plough  turns  up  unmarked ;  and  Ten- 
nyson will  tell  you  the  significance,  and  feeling, 
and  meaning  there  are  in  the  black  ash-bud,  and 
the  crumpled  poppy,  and  the  twinkling  laurels, 
and  the  lights  which  glitter  on  the  panes  of  the 
gardener's  greenhouse,  and  the  moated  grange, 
and  the  long,  gray  flats  of  "unpoetic"  Lincoln- 
shire. Read  Wordsworth's  "  Nutting,"  and  his 
fine  analysis  of  the  remorse  experienced  in  early 
youth  at  the  wanton  tearing  down  of  branches, 
as  if  the  desolation  on  which  the  blue  sky  looks 
reproachfully  through  the  open  space  where  foli- 


126  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

age  was  before,  were  a  crime  against  life,  and 
you  will  feel  the  intuitive  truth  of  his  admonition 
that  "  there  is  a  Spirit  in  the  woods." 

Nay,  even  round  this  Brighton  of  ours,  treeless 
and  prosaic  as  people  call  it,  there  are  materials 
enough  for  Poetry,  for  the  heart  that  is  not 
petrified  in  conventional  maxims  about  beauty. 
Enough  in  its  free  downs,  which  are  ever  chang- 
ing their  distance  and  their  shape,  as  the  lights 
and  cloud-shadows  sail  over  them,  and  over  the 
graceful  forms  of  whose  endless  variety  of  slopes 
the  eye  wanders,  unarrested  by  abruptness,  with 
an  entrancing  feeling  of  fulness,  and  a  restful 
satisfaction  to  the  pure  sense  of  Form.  And 
enough  upon  our  own  sea-shore  and  in  our  rare 
sunsets.  A  man  might  have  watched  with  de- 
light, beyond  all  words,  last  night,  the  long,  deep 
purple  lines  of  cloud,  edged  with  intolerable  ra- 
diance, passing  into  orange,  yellow,  pale  green, 
and  leaden  blue,  and  reflected  below  in  warm, 
purple  shadows,  and  cold,  green  lights,  upon  the 
sea — and  then,  the  dying  of  it  all  away  ?  And 
then  he  might  have  remembered  those  lines  of 
Shakspeare;  and  often  quoted  as  they  are,  the 
poet  would  have  interpreted  the  sunset,  and  the 
sunset  what  the  poet  meant  by  the  exclamation 
which  follows  the  disappearance  of  a  similar 
aerial  vision — 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  127 

"  We  are  such  stuff 
As  dreams  are  made  of:  and  our  narrow  life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep." 

.  No  one  has  taught  us  this  so  earnestly  as 
Wordsworth ;  for  it  was  part  of  his  great  mes- 
sage to  this  century  to  remind  us  that  the  sphere 
of  the  poet  is  not  only  in  the  extraordinary,  but 
in  the  ordinary  and  common. 

"  The  common  things  of  sky  and  earth, 
And  hill  and  valley,  he  has  viewed : 
And  impulses  of  deeper  birth 
Have  come  to  him  in  solitude. 

"  From  common  things,  that  round  us  lie, 
Some  random  truths  he  can  impart  : 
The  harvest  of  a  quiet  eye, 

That  sleeps  and  broods  on  its  own  heart." 

But,  of  course,  if  you  lead  a  sensual  life,  or  a 
mercenary  or  artificial  life,  you  will  not  read  these 
truths  in  nature.  The  faculty  of  discerning  them 
is  not  learnt  either  in  the  gin-palace  or  the  ball- 
room. A  pure  heart,  and  a  simple,  manly  life 
alone  can  reveal  to  you  all  that  which  seer  and 
poet  saw. 

This  Lecture  will  be  appropriately  closed  by  a 
brief  notice  of  the  last  work  of  our  chief  living 
poet,  Alfred  Tennyson.  And  I  shall  also  en- 
deavour to  confute  certain  cavils  raised  against 
it :  for  after  laying  down  what  appear  to  be  true 

15 


128  LECTUEES   AND   ADDRESSES 

canons  of  criticism,  they  may  be  further  substan- 
tiated by  the  exposure  of  criticism  which  is  false. 

The  poem  entitled  "  In  Memoriam  "  is  a  monu- 
ment erected  by  friendship  to  the  memory  of  a 
gifted  son  of  the  historian  Hallam.  It  is  divided 
into  a  number  of  cabinet-like  compartments, 
which,  with  fine  and  delicate  shades  of  differ- 
ence, exhibit  the  various  phases  through  which 
the  bereaved  spirit  passes  from  the  first  shock  of 
despair,  dull,  hopeless  misery  and  rebellion,  up  to 
the  dawn  of  hope,  acquiescent  trust,  and  even 
calm  happiness  again.  In  the  meanwhile  many 
a  question  has  been  solved,  which  can  only  sug- 
gest itself  when  suffering  forces  the  soul  to  front 
the  realities  of  our  mysterious  existence ;  such 
as :  Is  there  indeed  a  life  to  come  ?  And  if  there 
is,  will  it  be  a  conscious  life  ?  Shall  I  know  that 
myself  ?  "Will  there  be  mutual  recognition  ?  con- 
tinuance of  attachments  ?  Shall  friend  meet 
friend,  and  brother  brother,  as  friends  and  bro- 
thers ?  Or,  again :  How  comes  it  that  one  so 
gifted  was  taken  away  so  early,  in  the  maturity 
of  his  powers,  just  at  the  moment  when  they 
seemed  about  to  become  available  to  mankind  ? 
"What  means  all  this,  and  is  there  not  something 
wrong  ?     Is  the  law  of  Creation  Love  indeed  ? 

By  slow  degrees,  all  these  doubts,  and  worse, 
are  answered ;  not  as  a  philosopher  would  answer 


BY  REV.   F.   W.  ROBERTSON.  129 

them,  nor  as  a  theologian,  or  a  metaphysician, 
but  as  it  is  the  duty  of  a  poet  to  reply,  by  intui- 
tive faculty,  in  strains  in  which  Imagination  pre- 
dominates over  Thought  and  Memory.  And  one 
of  the  manifold  beauties  of  this  exquisite  poem, 
and  which  is  another  characteristic  of  true  Poetry, 
is  that,  piercing  through  all  the  sophistries  and 
over-refinements  of  speculation,  and  the  lifeless 
skepticism  of  science,  it  falls  back  upon  the 
grand,  primary,  simple  truths  of  our  humanity; 
those  first  principles  which  underlie  all  creeds, 
which  belong  to  our  earliest  childhood,  and  on 
which  the  wisest  and  best  have  rested  through  all 
ages;  that  all  is  right;  that  darkness  shall  be 
clear ;  that  God  and  Time  are  the  only  interpre- 
ters :  that  Love  is  king :  that  the  Immortal  is  in 
us :  that — which  is  the  key-note  of  the  whole — 

"  all  is  well,  though  Faith  and  Form 
Be  sundered  in  the  night  of  fear." 

This  is  an  essential  quality  of  the  highest 
Poetry,  whose  characteristic  is  simplicity ;  not  in 
the  sense  of  being  intelligible,  like  a  novel,  to 
every  careless  reader,  without  pain  or  effort ;  for 
the  best  Poetry  demands  study  as  severe  as 
mathematics  require ;  and  to  any  one  who  thinks 
that  it  can  be  treated  as  a  mere  relaxation  and 
amusement  for  an  idle  hour,  this  Lecture  does 


130  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

not  address  itself;  but  simplicity,  in  the  sense  of 
dealing  with  truths  which  do  not  belong  to  a  few 
fastidious  and  refined  intellects,  but  are  the  heri- 
tage of  the  many.  The  deepest  truths  are  the 
simplest  and  the  most  common. 

It  is  wonderful  how  generally  the  formalists 
have  missed  their  way  to  the  interpretation  of  this 
poem.  It  is  sometimes  declared  with  oracular 
decisiveness,  that,  if  this  be  Poetry,  all  they  have 
been  accustomed  to  call  Poetry  must  change  its 
name.  As  if  it  were  not  a  law  that  every 
original  poet  must  be  in  a  sense  new;  as  if 
iEschylus  were  not  a  poet  because  he  did  not 
write  an  epic  like  Homer :  or  as  if  the  Romantic 
poets  were  not  poets  because  they  departed  from 
every  rule  of  classical  Poetry.  And  as  if,  indeed, 
this  very  objection  had  not  been  brought  against 
the  Romantic  school,  and  Shakspeare  himself 
pronounced  by  French  critics  a  "  buffoon :  "  till 
Schlegel  showed  that  all  life  makes  to  itself  its 
own  form,  and  that  Shakspeare's  form  had  its 
living  laws.  So  spoke  the  "  Edinburgh  Review" 
of  Byron  ;  but  it  could  not  arrest  his  career.  So 
spoke  Byron  himself  of  Wordsworth ;  but  he 
would  be  a  bold  man,  or  a  very  flippant  one,  who 
would  dare  to  say  now  that  Wordsworth  is  not  a 
great  poet.  And  the  day  will  come  when  the 
slow,  sure  judgment  of  Time  shall  give  to   Ten- 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  131 

nyson  his  undisputed  place  among  the  English 
poets  as  a  true  one,  of  rare  merit  and  originality. 

To  a  coarser  class  of  minds  "  In  Memoriam " 
appears  too  melancholy  ;  one  long  monotone  of 
grief.  It  is  simply  one  of  the  most  victorious 
songs  that  ever  poet  chaunted ;  with  the  myste- 
rious undertone,  no  doubt,  of  sadness  which  be- 
longs to  all  human  joy,  in  front  of  the  mysteries 
of  death  and  sorrow  ;  but  that  belongs  to  "  Para- 
dise Regained  "  as  well  as  to  "  Paradise  Lost ;  " 
to  every  true  note,  indeed,  of  human  triumph 
except  a  Bacchanalian  drinking  song.  And  that 
it  should  predominate  in  a  monumental  record  is 
not  particularly  unnatural.  But  readers  who 
never  dream  of  mastering  the  plan  of  a  work  be- 
fore they  pretend  to  criticize  details,  can  scarcely 
be  expected  to  perceive  that  the  wail  passes  into 
a  hymn  of  solemn  and  peaceful  beauty  before  it 
closes. 

Another  objection,  proceeding  from  the  relig- 
ious periodicals,  is,  that  the  subject  being  a 
religious  one,  is  not  treated  religiously  ;  by  which 
they  mean  theologically.  It  certainly  is  neither 
saturated  with  Evangelicalism  nor  Tractarian- 
ism  ;  nor  does  it  abound  in  the  routine  phrases 
which,  when  missed,  raise  a  suspicion  of  hetero- 
doxy ;  nor  does  it  seize  the  happy  opportunity 
afforded  for  a  pious  denunciation  of  the  errors  of 

15* 


132         LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

Purgatory  and  Mariolatry.  But  the  objection  to 
its  want  of  definite  theology — an  objection,  by 
the  way,  brought  frequently  against  Wordsworth 
by  writers  of  the  same  school — is,  in  fact,  in 
favour  of  the  presumption  of  its  poetic  merit ; 
for  it  may  be  the  office  of  the  priest  to  teach 
upon  authority — of  the  philosopher  according  to 
induction — but  the  province  of  the  poet  is  neither 
to  teach  by  induction  nor  by  authority,  but  to 
appeal  to  those  primal  intuitions  of  our  being 
which  are  eternally  and  necessarily  true. 

With  one  of  those  criticisms  I  mean  to  occupy 
your  time  at  somewhat  further  length.  Some 
months  ago,  a  leading  journal  devoted  three  or 
four  columns  to  the  work  of  depreciating  Ten- 
nyson. I  will  answer  that  critique  now,  as 
concisely  as  I  can ;  not  because  it  can  do  any 
permanent  harm  to  Tennyson's  reputation,  but 
because  it  may  do  a  great  deal  of  harm  to  the 
taste  of  the  readers. 

Now,  in  any  pretension  to  criticize  a  poetic 
work  of  internal  unity,  the  first  duty,  plainly,  is 
to  comprehend  the  structure  of  it  as  a  whole,  and 
master  the  leading  idea.  It  is  to  be  regretted 
that  this  is  precisely  what  English  critics  gener- 
ally do  not.  Even  with  our  own  Shakspeare, 
admiration  or  blame  is  usually  confined  to  the 
beauties   and   blemishes    of    detached    passages. 


BY   REV.  F.  W.   ROBERTSON.  133 

For  the  significance  "of  each  play,  as  a  whole,  we 
had  to  look,  in  the  first  instance,  to  such  foreign- 
ers as  Augustus  Schle^el  to  teach  us. 

Let  us  inquire  what  conception  the  critic  in 
question  has  formed  of  this  beautiful  poem. 

"  Let  the  acknowledgment  be  made  at  once 
that  the  writer  dedicated  his  thoughts  to  a  most 
difficult  task.  He  has  written  200  pages  upon 
one  person — in  other  words,  he  has  painted  120 
miniatures  of  the  same  individual." 

Mr.  Tennyson  has  not  painted  120  portraits  of 
the  same  individual.  He  has  written  a  poem  in 
120  divisions,  illustrative  of  the  manifold  phases 
through  which  the  soul  passes  from  doubt  through 
grief  to  faith.  With  so  entire  and  radical  a  mis- 
conception of  the  scope  of  the  poem,  it  is  not 
wonderful  if  the  whole  examination  of  the  de- 
tails should  be  a  failure. 

The  first  general  charge  is  one  of  irreverence. 
The  special  case  selected  is  these  verses,  which 
are  called  blasphemous — 

"  But  brooding  on  the  dear  one  dead, 
And  all  he  said  of  tilings  divine, 
(And  dear  as  sacramental  wine 
To  dying  lips  is  all  he  said.)" 

One  would  have  thought  that  the  holy  tenderness 
of  this  passage  would  have  made  this  charge  im- 
possible.   However,  as  notions  of  reverence  and 


134  LECTURES    AND   ADDRESSES 

irreverence  in  some  minds  are  singularly  vague, 
we  will  give  the  flippant  objection  rather  more 
attention  than  it  merits. 

By  a  sacrament  we  understand  a  means  of 
grace ;  an  outward  something  through  which 
pure  and  holy  feelings  are  communicated  to  the 
soul.  In  the  Church  of  Christ  there  are  two  sac- 
raments— the  material  of  one  is  the  commonest 
of  all  elements,  water ;  the  form  of  the  other  the 
commonest  of  all  acts,  a  meal.  Now  there  are 
two  ways  in  which  reverence  may  be  manifested 
towards  any  thing  or  person  ;  one,  by  exalting 
that  thing  or  person  by  means  of  the  depreciation 
of  all  others ;  another,  by  exalting  all  others 
through  it.  To  some  minds  it  appears  an  hon- 
ouring of  the  sacraments  to  represent  them  as 
solitary  things  in  their  own  kind,  like  nothing 
else,  and  all  other  things  and  acts  profane  in 
comparison  of  them.  It  is  my  own  deep  convic- 
tion that  no  greater  dishonour  can  be  done  to 
them  than  by  this  conception,  which  degrades 
them  to  the  rank  of  charms.  The  sacraments 
are  honoured  when  they  consecrate  all  the  things 
and  acts  of  life.  The  commonest  of  all  materi- 
als was  sanctified  to  us  in  order  to  vindicate  the 
sacredness  of  all  materialism,  in  protest  against 
the  false  spiritualism  which  affects  to  despise  the 
body,  and  the  world  whose  impressions  are  made 


BY  REV.  F.   W.  ROBERTSON.  135 

upon  the  senses ;  and  in  order  to  declare  that  vis- 
ible world  God's,  and  the  organ  of  his  manifes- 
tation. The  simplest  of  all  acts  is  sacramental, 
in  order  to  vindicate  God's  claim  to  all  acts,  and 
to  proclaim  our  common  life  sacred,  in  protest 
against  the  conception  which  cleaves  so  obsti- 
nately to  the  mind,  that  religion  is  the  perform- 
ance of  certain  stated  acts,  not  necessarily  of 
moral  import,  on  certain  days  and  in  certain 
places.  If  there  be  any  thing  in  this  life  sacred, 
any  remembrance  filled  with  sanctifying  power, 
any  voice  which  symbolizes  to  us  the  voice  of 
God,  it  is  the  recollection  of  the  pure  and  holy 
ones  that  have  been  taken  from  us,  and  of  their 
examples  and  sacred  words — 

"  dear  as  sacramental  wine 
To  dying  lips." 

In  those  lines  Tennyson  has  deeply,  no  doubt 
unconsciously,  that  is,  without  dogmatic  inten- 
tion, entered  into  the  power  of  the  sacraments  to 
diffuse  their  meaning  beyond  themselves.  There 
is  no  irreverence  in  them  ;  no  blasphemy ;  noth- 
ing but  delicate  Christian  truth. 

The  next  definite  charge  is  more  difficult  to 
deal  with  before  a  mixed  society,  because  the 
shades  of  the  feeling  in  question  blend  into  each 
other  with  exceeding  fine  graduation.  The  lan- 
guage of  the  friend  towards  the  departed  friend 


136  LECTUKES  AND  ADDRESSES 

is  represented  as  unfitted  for  any  but  amatory 
tenderness.  In  this  blame  the  critic  is  compelled 
to  include  Shakspeare  ;  for  we  all  know  that  his 
sonnets,  dedicated  either  to  the  Earl  of  South- 
ampton or  the  Earl  of  Pembroke,  contain  expres- 
sions which  have  left  it  a  point  of  controversy 
whether  they  were  addressed  to  a  lady  or  a  friend. 
Now  in  a  matter  which  concerns  the  truthfulness 
of  a  human  feeling,  when  an  anonymous  critic 
is  on  one  side  and  Shakspeare  on  the  other,  there 
are  some  who  might  be  presumptuous  enough 
to  suppose  a  priori  that  the  modest  critic  is 
possibly  not  the  one  in  the  right.  However,  let 
us  examine  the  matter.  There  are  two  kinds  of 
friendship  :  One  is  the  affection  of  the  greater 
for  the  less,  the  other  that  of  the  less  for  the 
greater.  The  greater  and  the  less  may  be  differ- 
ences of  rank,  or  intellect,  or  character,  or  power. 
These  are  the  two  opposites  of  feeling  which  re- 
spectively characterize  the  masculine  and  the 
feminine  natures,  the  familiar  symbols  of  which 
relationship  are  the  oak  and  the  ivy  with  its 
clinging  tendrils.  But  though  they  are  the  mas- 
culine and  feminine  types,  they  are  not  confined 
to  male  and  female.  Most  of  us  have  gone 
through  both  these  phases  of  friendship.  Who- 
ever remembers  an  attachment  at  school  to  a 
boy  feebler  than  himself,  will  recollect  the  exult- 


BY   REV.   F.    W.    ROBERTSON.  137 

ing  pride  of  guardianship  with  which  he  shielded 
his  friend  from  the  oppression  of  some  young 
tyrant  of  the  playground.  And  whoever,  at  least 
in  boyhood  or  youth,  loved  a  man,  to  whose 
mental  or  moral  qualities  he  looked  up  with 
young  reverence,  will  recollect  the  devotion  and 
the  jealousies,  and  the  almost  passionate  tender- 
ness, and  the  costly  gifts,  and  the  desire  of  per- 
sonal sacrifices,  which  characterize  boyish  friend- 
ship, and  which  certainly  belong  to  the  feminine, 
and  not  the  masculine  type  of  affection.  Doubt- 
less the  language  of ,"  In  Memoriam  "  is  tender 
in  the  extreme,  such  as  a  sister  might  use  to  a 
brother  deeply  loved.  But  it  is  to  be  remem- 
bered that  it  expresses  the  affection  of  the  spirit 
which  rejoices  to  confess  itself  the  feebler;  and 
besides,  that,  the  man  has  passed  into  a  spirit, 
and  that  time  and  distance  have  thrown  a  hal- 
lowing haze  of  tenderness  over  the  lineaments 
of  the  friend  of  the  past.  It  may  be  well  also 
to  recollect  that  there  is  a  precedent  for  this 
woman-like  tenderness,  against  whose  authority 
one  who  condemns  so  severely  the  most  distant 
approach  to  irreverence  will  scarcely  venture  to 
appeal.  "  I  am  distressed  for  thee,  my  brother 
Jonathan ;  very  pleasant  hast  thou  been  to  me. 
Thy  love  to  me  was  wonderful,  passing  the  love 
of  womenP 


/ 
138  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

Again,  the  praise  and  the  grief  of  the  poem 
are  enormously  "exaggerated;"  and  as  an  in- 
stance of  the  manner  in  which  the  "poet  may 
underline  the  moralist,"  and  delicately  omit  the 
defects  without  hyperbolical  praise,  Dr.  Johnson's 
lines  on  Levett  are  cited  with  much  fervour  of 
admiration.  Good,  excellent  Dr.  Johnson!  sin- 
cerely pious ;  very  bigoted  and  very  superstitious ; 
yet  one,  withal,  who  fought  the  battle  of  life 
bravely  out,  in  the  teeth  of  disease  and  poverty ; 
a  great  lexicographer;  of  massive  learning;  the 
author  of  innumerable  prudential  aphorisms,  much 
quoted  by  persons  who  season  their  conversation 
with  proverbs  and  old  saws  ;  the  inditer  of  several 
thousand  ponderous  verses ;  a  man  worthy  of  all 
respect.  But  it  is  indeed  a  surprising  apparition 
when  the  shade  of  Dr.  Johnson  descends  upon 
the  Nineteenth  Century  as  the  spirit  of  a  poet, 
and  we  are  asked  to  identify  the  rugged  portrait 
which  Boswell  painted,  with  a  model  of  delicate 
forbearance. 

After  these  general  observations,  the  writer 
proceeds  to  criticize  in  detail;  he  awards  some 
praise,  and  much  blame.  You  shall  have  a  speci- 
men of  each.  Let  us  test  the  value  of  his  praise. 
He  selects  for  approbation,  among  others,  these 
lines : 


BY   REV.    F.   W.    ROBERTSON.  139 

"  Or  is  it  that  the  Past  will  win 
A  glory  from  its  being  far ; 
And  orb  into  the  perfect  star 
We  saw  not  when  we  moved  therein ! " 

The  question  has  suggested  itself  as  a  misgiv- 
ing to  the  poet's  mind,  whether  his  past  affec- 
tion was  really  as  full  of  blessedness  as  memory 
painted  it,  or  whether  it  be  not  the  perspective 
of  distance  which  conceals  its  imperfections,  and 
throws  purer  hues  upon  it  than  it  possessed  while 
actual.  In  the  rapid  reading  of  the  last  two  lines 
I  may  not  have  at  once  conveyed  to  you  the 
meaning.  So  long  as  we  remain  upon  any 
planet,  this  earth  for  instance,  it  would  wear  a 
common-place,  earthly  look;  but  if  we  could 
ascend  from  it  into  space,  in  proportion  to  the 
distance,  it  would  assume  a  heavenly  aspect,  and 
orb  or  round  itself  into  a  star.  This  is  a  very  sim- 
ple and  graceful  illustration.  Now  hear  the  critic 
condescending  to  be  an  analyst  of  its  beauties  : 

"  There  is  indeed  something  striking  and  sug- 
gestive in  comparing  the  gone-by  time  to  some 
luminous  body  rising  like  a  red  harvest  moon 
behind  us,  lighting  our  path  homeward." 

So  that  this  beautiful  simile  of  Tennyson's,  of 
a  distant  star  receding  into  pale  and  perfect  love- 
liness, in  the  hands  of  the  critic  becomes  a  great 
red  harvest  moon  ! 

16 


140         LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

So  much  for  the  praise.  Now  for  the  blame. 
The  following  passage  is  selected : — 

"  Oh,  if  indeed  that  eye  foresee, 
Or  see  (in  Him  is  no  before) 
In  more  of  life  true  love  no  more, 
And  love  the  indifference  to  be, 

"  So  might  I  find,  ere  yet  the  morn 
Breaks  hither  over  Indian  seas, 
That  Shadow  waiting  with  the  keys, 
To  cloak  me  from  my  proper  scorn." 

That  is,  as  you  will  see  at  once,  after  the 
thought  of  the  transitoriness  of  human  affection 
has  occurred  to  him,  the  possibility  is  also  sug- 
gested with  it,  that  he  himself  may  change  ;  but 
he  prays  that  before  that  day  can  come,  he  may 
find  the  Shadow  waiting  with  the  keys  to  cloak 
him  from  his  own  scorn.  Now  I  will  read  the 
commentary : — 

"  Lately  we  have  heard  much  of  keys,  both 
from  the  Flaminian  Gate  and  Piccadilly,  but  we 
back  this  verse  against  Hobbs.  We  dare  him  to 
pick  it.  Mr.  Moxon  may  hang  it  up  in  his  win- 
dow, with  a  200/.  prize  attached,  more  safely 
than  a  Brahmah.  That  a  shadow  should  hold 
keys  at  all,  is  a  noticeable  circumstance ;  but 
that  it  should  wait  with  a  cloak,  ready  to  be 
thrown  over  a  gentleman  in  difficulties,  is  ab- 
solutely amazing." 


BY  REV.  F.   W.    ROBERTSON.  141 

The  lock  may  be  picked  without  any  exertion 
of  unfair  force. 

A  few  pages  before  he  has  spoken  of  the  break- 
ing up  of  a  happy  friendship — 

"  There  sat  the  Shadow,  feared  by  man, 
Who  broke  our  fair  companionship." 

Afterward  he  calls  it : — 

"  The  Shadow,  cloaked  from  head  to  foot, 
Who  keeps  the  key  of  all  the  creeds." 

Take,  at  a  venture,  any  charity-school  boy,  of 
ordinary  intelligence ;  read  to  him  these  lines ; 
and  he  will  tell  you  that  the  Shadow  feared  by 
man  is  death ;  that  it  is  cloaked  from  head  to 
foot  because  death  is  mysterious,  and  its  form  not 
distinguishable ;  and  that  he  keeps  the  keys  of  all 
the  creeds,  because  he  alone  can  unlock  the  secret 
of  the  grave,  and  show  which  of  all  conflicting 
human  creeds  is  true. 

"  It  is  a  noticeable  thing,"  we  are  told,  "  that 
a  shadow  should  hold  keys  at  all."  It  is  a  very 
noticeable  thing  that  a  skeleton  should  hold  a 
scythe  and  an  hour-glass ;  very  noticeable  that  a 
young  lady  should  hold  scales  when  she  is  blind- 
fold ;  yet  it  is  not  a  particularly  uncommon  rule 
of  symbolism  so  to  represent  Time  and  Justice. 
Probably  the  writer  in  the  criticism,  if  he  should 


142  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

chance  to  read  of  "  riding  on  the  wings  of  the 
wind,"  would  consider  it  a  very  noticeable  method 
of  locomotion ;  perhaps  would  inquire,  with  dull 
facetiousness,  what  was  the  precise  length  of  the 
primary,  secondary,  and  tertiary  quills  of  the  said 
wings ;  and  if  told  of  a  spirit  clothing  itself  in 
light,  he  might  triumphantly  demand  in  what 
loom  light  could  be  woven  into  a  great  coat. 

Finally.  The  critique  complains  that  a  vast 
deal  of  poetic  feeling  has  been  wasted  on  a  law- 
yer ;  and  much  wit  is  spent  upon  the  tenderness 
which  is  given  to  "  Amaryllis  of  the  Chancery 
bar."  A  barrister,  it  seems,  is  beyond  the  pale 
of  excusable,  because  political  sensibilities.  So 
that,  if  my  friend  be  a  soldier,  I  may  love  him, 
and  celebrate  him  in  poetry,  because  the  profes- 
sion of  arms  is  by  all  conventional  associations 
heroic ;  or  if  he  bears  on  his  escutcheon  the  red 
hand  of  knighthood,  or  wears  a  ducal  coronet,  or 
even  be  a  shepherd,  still  there  are  poetic  prece- 
dents for  romance  ;  but  if  he  be  a  member  of  the 
Chancery  bar,  or  only  a  cotton  lord,  then,  because 
these  are  not  yet  grades  accredited  as  heroic  in 
song,  worth  is  not  worth,  and  honour  is  not  hon- 
our, and  nobleness  is  not  nobility.  O,  if  we  want- 
ed poets  for  nothing  else,  it  would  be  for  this, 
that  they  are  the  grand  levellers,  vindicating  the 
sacredness  of  our  common  humanity,  and  in  pro- 


BY   REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  143 

test  against  such  downright  vulgarity  of  heart  as 
this,  reminding  us  that — 

"  For  a'  that,  and  a'  that, 
A  man's  a  man  for  a'  that." 

So  much  then  for  this  critic ;  wrong  when  he 
praises  and  wrong  when  he  blames  ;  who  finds 
Shakspeare  false  to  the  facts  of  human  nature, 
and  quotes  Dr.  Johnson  as  a  model  poet;  who 
cannot  believe  in  the  Poetry  of  any  expression 
unless  it  bear  the  mint-stamp  of  a  precedent,  and 
cannot  understand  either  the  exaggerations  or  the 
infinitude  of  genuine  grief. 

Let  it  serve  to  the  members  of  this  Institution 
as  a  comment  on  the  opinion  quoted  at  the  out- 
set, that  it  is  sufficient  education  for  Working 
Men  to  read  the  newspapers.  If  they  form  no 
more  living  conception  of  what  Poetry  is  than 
such  as  they  get  from  the  flippant  criticism  of  a 
slashing  article,  they  may  learn  satire,  but  not 
enthusiasm.  If  they  limit  their  politics  to  the 
knowledge  they  may  pick  up  from  daily  newspa- 
pers (which,  with  a  few  honourable  exceptions, 
seem  bound  to  pander  to  all  the  passions  and 
prejudices  of  their  respective  factions)  they  will 
settle  down  into  miserable  partizans.  And  if 
Working  Men  are  to  gain  their  notions  of  Chris- 
tianity from  the  sneering,  snarling  gossip  of  the 
religious   newspapers,  I  for  one,  do  not   marvel 

16* 


144   LECTURES,  &c.  BY  REV.  F.  W.  ROBERTSON. 

that  indignant  infidelity  is  so  common  amongst 
them. 

And  let  it  be  to  us  all  a  warning  against  that 
detracting,  depreciating  spirit  which  is  the  curse 
and  bane  both  of  the  religion  and  the  literature 
of  our  day — that  spirit  which  has  no  sympathy 
with  aught  that  is  great  beyond  the  pale  of  cus- 
tomary formalities,  and  sheds  its  blighting  influ- 
ence over  all  that  is  enthusiastic,  and  generous, 
and  high-minded.  It  is  possible  for  a  sneer  or  a 
cavil  to  strike  sometimes  a  superficial  fact ;  I 
never  knew  the  one  or  the  other  reach  the  deep 
heart  and  blessedness  of  truth. 


LECTURE   II. 


In  the  former  Lecture  I  endeavoured  to  answer 
the  question — What  is  Poetry?  Two  replies  were 
given  :  It  is  the  natural  language  of  excited  feel- 
ing ;  and — A  work  of  imagination  wrought  into 
form  by  art.  We  said  that  it  arises  out  of  the 
necessity  of  expression,  and  the  impossibility  of 
adequate  expression  of  any  of  the  deeper  feelings 
in  direct  terms.  Hence  the  soul  clothes  those 
feelings  in  symbolic  and  sensuous  imagery,  in 
order  to  suggest  them. 

And  thus  our  definitions  agree  with  two  of 
Milton's  requirements  for  Poetry — that  it  be 
"  simple,  sensuous,  passionate."  Sensuous,  that 
is,  suggestive  to  the  imagination  of  truth  through 
images  which  make  their  impression  on  the 
senses.  Passionate,  that  is,  as  opposed  to  scien- 
tific ;  for  the  province  of  Poetry  is  not  the  intel- 
lect, but  the  feelings. 

And  thus,  too,  they  coincide  with  the  character 


146         LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

given  to  Poetry  by  the  great  critic  of  antiquity, 
as  an  imitative  art ;  for  it  is  the  art  of  suggest- 
ing and  thus  imitating  through  form,  the  feelings 
that  have  been  suggested  by  another  form,  or 
perhaps  have  arisen  without  form  at  all.  So  it 
takes  its  place  with  all  art,  whose  office  is  not  to 
copy  form  by  form,  but  to  express  and  hint  spirit- 
ual truths. 

It  is  plain,  from  what  has  been  said,  that  Poe- 
try may  be  spoken  of  in  two  senses.  In  the 
specific  or  technical  sense,  by  Poetry  we  mean 
the  expression  in  words,  most  appropriately  me- 
trical words,  of  the  truths  of  imagination  and 
feeling.  But  in  the  generic  and  larger  sense, 
Poetry  is  the  expression  of  imaginative  truth  in 
any  form,  provided  only  that  it  be  symbolic,  sug- 
gestive, and  indirect.  Hence  we  said  that  there 
is  a  Poetry  of  sculpture,  architecture,  painting ; 
and  hence  all  nature  is  poetical,  because  it  is  the 
form  in  which  the  eternal  Feeling  has  clothed  it- 
self with  infinite  suggestiveness  :  and  hence  Lord 
Byron  calls  the  stars  "  the  Poetry  of  heaven ; " 
and  tells  us  that  to  him  "  high  mountains  were  a 
feeling  ;  "  and  that  mountain  and  wood  and  sky 
spake 

"  A  mutual  language,  clearer  than  the  tome 
Of  his  land's  tongue,  which  he  would  oft  forsake 
For  Nature's  pages,  glassed  by  sunbeams  on  the  lake." 


BY  REV;  F.  W.   ROBERTSON.  147 

And  hence  Wordsworth  tells  us  that  Liberty  has 

two  voices  : 

"  One  is  of  the  sea, 
And  one  is  of  the  mountains." 

And  hence  a  greater  than  either  has  said  that  the 
Heavens  speak,  and  that  "  There  is  neither  speech 
nor  language  where  their  voices  are  not  heard." 
And  hence,  too,  Woman  has  been  called  the 
Poetry  of  life,  because  her  presence  in  this  lower 
world  expresses  for  us,  as  well  as  calls  out,  those 
infinite  feelings  of  purity,  tenderness,  and  devo- 
tion, whose  real  existence  is  in  our  own  bosoms. 
And  hence,  again,  there  is  a  Poetry  in  music  ; 
not  in  that  in  which  sound  imitates  sound,  as 
when  the  roaring  of  the  sea,  or  the  pattering  of 
the  rain,  or  church  bells,  or  bugles,  or  the  groans 
of  the  dying  are  produced,  for  in  such  cases  there 
is  only  a  mimicry,  more  or  less  ingenious  ;  but 
that  in  which  we  can  almost  fancy  that  there  is 
something  analogous  to  the  inner  history  of  the 
human  heart, — an  expression  of  resolve  or  moral 
victory,  or  aspiration,  or  other  feelings  far  more 
shadowy,  infinite,  and  intangible ;  or  that  in  which 
the  feelings  of  a  nation  have  found  for  themselves 
an  indirect  and  almost  unconscious  utterance,  as 
it  is  said  of  the  Irish  melody,  that  through  it, 
long  centuries  of  depression  have  breathed  them- 
selves out  in  cadences  of  a  wild,  low  wail. 


148  LECTURES  AND    ADDRESSES 

We  divided  poets  into  two  orders  :  those  in 
whom  the  vision  and  the  faculty  divine  of  imagi- 
nation exists ;  and  those  in  whom  the  plastic 
power  of  shaping  predominates; — the  men  of 
poetic  inspiration,  and  the  men  of  poetic  taste. 
In  the  first  order  I  placed  Tennyson ;  in  the 
second,  Pope. 

Considerable  discussion,  I  am  told,  has  been 
excited  among  the  men  of  this  Institution  by 
both  these  positions, — some  warmly  defending 
them,  and  others  as  warmly  impugning.  For 
myself,  it  is  an  abundant  reward  to  find  that 
"Working  Men  can  be  interested  in  such  ques- 
tions ; — that  they  can  debate  the  question  whether 
Pope  was  a  poet,  and  be  induced  to  read  Ten- 
nyson. For  the  true  aim  of  every  one  who  as- 
pires to  be  a  teacher  is,  or  ought  to  be,  not  to 
impart  his  own  opinions,  but  to  kindle  other 
minds.  I  care  very  little,  comparatively,  whether 
you  adopt  my  views  or  not ;  but  I  do  care  much 
to  know  that  I  can  be  the  humble  instrument,  in 
this  or  higher  matters,  of  leading  any  man  to  stir 
up  the  power  within  him,  and  to  form  a  creed 
and  faith  which  are  in  a  living  way,  and  not  on 
mere  authority,  his  own. 

However,  I  will  explain  to  you  on  what 
grounds  I  made  these  two  assertions.  And,  first, 
as  respects  Pope — if  any  one  approved  of  what 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  149 

I  said,  under  the  impression  that  I  denied  to 
Pope  the  name  of  poet,  I  must  disclaim  his  ap- 
probation ;  I  did  not  say  so.  Pope  is  a  true 
poet ;  in  his  own  order  he  stands  amongst  the 
foremost ;  only,  that  order  is  the  second,  not  the 
first.  In  the  mastery  of  his  materials,  which  are 
words,  in  the  plastic  power  of  expression,  he  is 
scarcely  surpassed.  His  melody — I  do  not  say 
his  harmony,  which  is  a  much  higher  thing — is 
unquestionable.  There  is  no  writer  from  whom 
so  many  of  those  sparkling,  epigrammatic  sen- 
tences, which  are  the  staple  commodities  of 
quotation,  are  introduced  into  conversation ;  none 
who  can  be  read  with  more  pleasure,  and  even 
profit.  He  has  always  a  masculine  fancy;  more 
rarely,  imagination.  But  you  look  in  vain  for 
the  truths  which  come  from  a  large  heart  and 
a  seeing  eye ;  in  vain  for  the  "  thoughts  that 
breathe  and  the  wTords  that  burn  ; "  in  vain  for 
those  flashes  of  truth,  which,  like  the  lightning  in 
a  dark  night,  make  all  luminous,  open  out  unsus- 
pected glories  of  tree  and  sky  and  building,  inter- 
pret us  to  ourselves,  and  "  body  forth  the  shapes 
of  things  unknown  ; "  truths  which  are  almost 
prophetic.  Who  has  not  read  his  Essay  on  Man, 
again  and  again  ?  And  yet  it  is  but  the  philo- 
sophy of  Bolingbroke,  melodiously  expressed  in 
rhyme ;  whereas  the   office    of   Poetry  is   not  to 


150         LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

make  us  think  accurately,  but  feel  truly.  And 
his  Rape  of  the  Lock,  which  seems  to  me  the 
one  of  all  his  works  that  most  deserves  the  name 
of  Poetry,  the  nearest  approach  to  a  creation  of 
the  fancy,  describes  aristocratic  society,  which  is 
uniform,  polished,  artificial,  and  out  of  which 
a  mightier  master  of  the  art  than  Pope  could 
scarcely  have  struck  the  notes  of  true  passion. 
Moreover,  its  machinery,  the  Rosicrucian  fancies 
of  sylphs  and  gnomes,  is  but  machinery,  lifeless. 
If  you  compare  Shakspeare's  Ariel  or  Puck,  things 
alive,  preternatural,  and  yet  how  natural !  with 
these  automatons,  you  will  feel  the  difference 
between  a  living  creation  and  cleverly  moved 
puppet  work.  Throughout  you  have  thought, 
not  imagination ;  intellect,  not  intuition. 

I  read  you  last  time  Pope's  estimate  of  his  own 
art ;  now,  contrast  it  with  the  conceptions  formed 
of  Poetry  by  men  whom  I  would  place  in  the  first 
order. 

First,  let  Burns  speak.  The  spirit  of  Scottish 
poesy  has  appeared  to  him,  and  given  him  his 
commission.     She  says — 

"  I  saw  thee  seek  the  sounding  shore, 
Delighted  with  the  dashing  roar ; 
Or  when  the  North  his  fleecy  store 

Drove  through  the  sky, — 
I  saw  grim  Nature's  visage  hoar, 

Struck  thy  young  eye. 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  151 

"  Or  when  the  deep,  green-mantled  earth, 
Warm-cherished  ev'ry  flow'ret's  birth, 
And  joy  and  music  pouring  forth 

In  every  grove, — 
I  saw  thee  eye  the  gen'ral  mirth, 

With  boundless  love." 

Observe  that  exquisite  account  of  the  true 
poetic  or  creative  power,  which  comes  from  love, 
the  power  of  sympathy  with  the  happiness  of  all 
kinds  of  being — "  I  saw  thee  eye  the  general 
mirth  ivith  boundless  love  !  " 

Wordsworth  shall  speak  next.  I  select  his 
Sonnet  to  Haydon.  You  remember  poor  Hay- 
don's  tragic  end.  He  died  by  his  own  hand,  dis- 
appointed because  the  world  had  not  appreciated 
nor  understood  his  paintings.  It  had  been  well 
for  Haydon  had  he  taken  to  heart  the  lesson  of 
these  lines,  pregnant  with  manly  strength  for 
every  one,  poet  or  teacher,  who  is  striving  to  ex- 
press deep  truths  for  which  the  men  of  his  gene- 
ration are  not  prepared. 

And  remark,  merely  by  the  way,  in  this  sonnet, 
Wordsworth's  corroboration  of  the  view  I  have 
placed  before  you,  that  Poetry  is  a  something  to 
which  words  are  the  accidental,  not  by  any  means 
the  essential  form. 

"  High  is  our  calling,  friend  !  Creative  Art, 
(Whether  the  instrument  of  words  she  use, 
11 


152         LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

Or  pencil  pregnant  with  ethereal  hues,) 
Demands  the  service  of  a  mind  and  heart, 
Though  sensitive,  yet,  in  their  weakest  part, 
Heroically  fashioned — to  infuse 
Faith  in  the  whispers  of  the  lonely  Muse, 
While  the  whole  world  seems  adverse  to  desert. 
And,  oh  !  when  Nature  sinks,  as  oft  she  may, 
Through  long-lived  pressure  of  obscure  distress, 
Still  to  be  strenuous  for  the  bright  reward, 
And  in  the  soul  admit  of  no  decay, 
Brook  no  continuance  of  weak-mindedness — 
Great  is  the  glory,  for  the  strife  is  hard ! " 

We  will  next  listen  to  the  account  given  us  by 
Milton,  of  the  conditions  under  which  Poetry  is 
possible, — lofty  and  majestic,  as  we  should  expect 
from  him : — 

"  This  is  not  to  be  obtained  but  by  devout  prayer  to  that 
Eternal  Spirit  that  can  enrich  with  all  utterance  and  knowl- 
edge, and  sends  his  seraphim  with  the  hallowed  fire  of  his 
altar,  to  touch  and  purify  the  lips  of  whom  he  pleases.  To 
this  must  be  added  industrious  and  select  reading,  steady 
observation,  and  insight  into  all  seemly  and  generous  acts  and 
affairs." 

Tennyson  shall  close  this  brief  list,  with  what 
he  thinks  the  poet's  calling : 

"  The  poet  in  a  golden  clime  was  born, 
With  golden  stars  above ; 
Dower'd  with  the  hate  of  hate,  the  scorn  of  scorn, 
The  love  of  love." 


BY  REV.  F.  W.   ROBERTSON.  153 

That  is, — the  Prophet  of  Truth  receives  for  his 
dower  the  scorn  of  men  in  whose  breasts  scorn 
dwells ;  hatred  from  men  who  hate ;  while  his 
reward  is  in  the  gratitude  and  affection  of  men 
who  seek  the  truth  which  they  love,  more  eagerly 
than  the  faults  which  their  acuteness  can  blame. 

"  He  saw  through  life  and  death,  through  good  and  ill, 

He  saw  through  his  own  soul, 
The  marvel  of  the  everlasting  will, 

An  open  scroll, 
"  Before  him  lay." 

And  again : 

"  Thus  truth  was  multiplied  on  truth :  the  world 
Like  one  great  garden  show'd, 
And  thro'  the  wreaths  of  floating  dark  upcurled 
Rare  sunrise  flow'd. 

"  And  Freedom  rear'd  in  that  august  sunrise, 
Her  beautiful,  bold  brow, 
When  rites  and  forms  before  his  burning  eyes 
Melted  like  snow." 

Rare  gifts  of  nature :  power  to  read  the  "  open 
secret  of  the  universe;"  the  apostleship  of  light, 
truth,  liberty;  the  faculty  of  discerning  the  life 
and  meaning  which  underlie  all  forms :  this  is 
Tennyson's  notion  of  a  poet.  You  have  heard 
the  master-spirits  discoursing  of  their  art.  Now 
if  after  these,  you  turn  to  Pope's  conception 
again,  you  will  feel  there  is  a  descent  as  into 


154  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

another  region.  A  mighty  gulf  lies  between.  It 
is  impossible  to  place  these  men  in  the  same 
order.  No  man  is  higher  than  his  own  ideal  of 
excellence ;  it  is  well  if  he  attains  that.  Pope 
reached  all  he  aimed  at ;  he  reached  no  more. 

I  placed  Tennyson  in  the  first  order.  And  this 
not  from  any  bigoted  blindness  to  his  deficiencies 
and  faults,  which  are  many ;  nor  from  any  Quix- 
otic desire  to  compare  him  with  the  very  highest ; 
but  because,  if  the  division  be  a  true  one  which 
separates  poets  into  the  men  of  genuine  passion 
and  men  of  skill,  it  is  impossible  to  hesitate  in 
which  Tennyson  is  to  be  placed.  I  ranked  him 
with  the  first  order,  because  with  great  mastery 
over  his  material ;  words,  great  plastic  power  of 
versification  and  a  rare  gift  of  harmony,  he  has 
also  Vision  or  Insight ;  and  because,  feeling  in- 
tensely the  great  questions  of  his  day,  not  as  a 
mere  man  of  letters,  but  as  a  man,  he  is  to  some 
extent  the  interpreter  of  his  age,  not  only  in  its 
mysticism,  which  I  tried  to  show  you  is  the  neces- 
sary reaction  from  the  rigid  formulas  of  science 
and  the  earthliness  of  an  age  of  work,  into  the 
vagueness  which  belongs  to  infinitude,  but  also 
in  his  poetic  and  almost  prophetic  solution  of 
some  of  its  great  questions. 

Thus  in  his  Princess,  which  he  calls  a  "  med- 
ley," the  former   half  of  which  is  sportive,  and 


BY   REV.   F.  W.   ROBERTSON.  155 

the  plot  almost  too  fantastic  and  impossible  for 
criticism,  while  the  latter  portion  seems  too  seri- 
ous for  a  story  so  slight  and  flimsy,  he  has  with 
exquisite  taste  disposed  of  the  question  which 
has  its  burlesque  and  comic  as  well  as  its  tragic 
side,  of  woman's  present  place  and  future  desti- 
nies. And  if  any  one  wishes  to  see  this  subject 
treated  with  a  masterly  and  delicate  hand,  in  pro- 
test alike  against  the  theories  which  would  make 
her  as  the  man,  which  she  could  only  be  by  be- 
coming masculine,  not  manly,  and  those  which 
would  have  her  to  remain  the  toy,  or  the  slave, 
or  the  slight  thing  of  sentimental  and  frivolous 
accomplishment  which  education  has  hitherto 
aimed  at  making  her,  I  would  recommend  him 
to  study  the  few  last  pages  of  the  Princess, 
where  the  poet  brings  the  question  back,  as  a 
poet  should,  to  nature ;  developes  the  ideal  out 
of  the  actual  woman,  and  reads  out  of  what  she 
is,  on  the  one  hand,  what  her  Creator  intended 
her  to  be,  and,  on  the  other,  what  she  neve'r  can 
nor  ought  to  be. 

And  again,  in  his  "In  Memoriam,"  he  has 
grappled  with  the  skepticism  of  his  age  ;  not  like 
the  school-divine,  but  like  a  poet ;  not  as  a  priest, 
with  the  thunder  of  the  pulpit,  or  the  ban  of  the 
conventicle,  but  as  a  man  ;  a  man  of  large,  hu- 
man heart,  who  feels  that  not  doubt,  but  faith  is 

17* 


156  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

greatness  and  blessedness,  yet  that  doubt  must 
not  be  put  down  by  force  or  terror,  nor  silenced 
by  logic,  but  pass  into  belief  through  sorrow,  and 
by  appeal  to  the  intuitions  of  the  Soul. 

The  severity  with  which  an  article  written 
against  this  poem  was  criticized  in  the  previous 
lecture,  may  have  seemed  to  you  more  than 
adequate.  Let  me  explain.  Three  things  only  in 
this  world  should  receive  no  quarter :  Hypocrisy, 
Pharisaism,  and  Tyranny.  Hypocrisy,  of  course, 
is  out  of  the  question  here.  But  by  Pharisaism 
in  religion,  we  mean,  not  attachment  to  forms, 
but  an  incapacity  of  seeing  or  believing  in  good- 
ness separate  from  some  particular  form,  either 
of  words  or  ritual.  The  incipient  stage  of  Phar- 
isaism is  that  in  which  men  are  blind  to  excel- 
lence which  does  not  belong  to  their  own  faction ; 
the  final  and  completed  stage  is  that  in  which 
goodness  seems  actually  evil.  Plainly,  there  can 
be  no  remedy  for  that ;  when  good  is  taken  for 
evil,  and  evil  for  good,  the  heart  has  reached  its 
last  rottenness.  By  Pharisaism  in  art  we  mean, 
not  an  attachment  to  particular  schools,  but  an 
inability  of  recognizing  beauty,  except  in  accord- 
ance with  conventional  rules  and  established 
maxims  ;  its  incipient  stage  is  when  beauty  in 
aberrant  types  is  not  felt ;  its  final  and  hopeless 
stage  is  reached  when  such  beauty  appears  de- 
formity. 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  157 

Now  it  was  the  Pharisaism  of  that  article 
which  appeared  to  me  to  deserve  no  common 
severity. 

Tyranny  merits  the  same  treatment.  Had  it 
been  from  a  feeble  antagonist  that  this  criticism 
proceeded,  it  might  have  been  left  unnoticed. 
Who  "  breaks  a  butterfly  upon  a  wheel  ?  "  Or 
had  it  been  vulgar,  personal  slander,  it  had  been 
met,  as  all  such  things  are  best  met,  in  silence. 
But  the  journal  in  which  this  critique  appeared 
is  no  vulgar  slanderer ;  scarcely  ever  is  an  article 
in  its  columns  deficient  in  talent  at  least ;  few 
would  like  to  writhe  beneath  its  lash.  It  wields 
a  gigantic  power.     Well,  it  is  excellent 

"  To  have  a  giant's  strength ;  but  it  is  tyrannous 
To  use  it  like  a  giant." 

And  because  that  article  was  written  with  merci- 
less severity,  weighted  with  all  the  authority  of  a 
powerful  journal,  and  hidden  behind  the  shelter 
of  an  anonymous  incognito,  therefore  it  seemed 
to  me  a  bounden  duty  to  show  to  Working  Men 
that  a  giant  can  be  crushed,  and  that  they  are  not 
to  be  led  blindfold  by  the  press ;  inasmuch  as 
even  an  article  in  the  "  leading  journal  of  Eu- 
rope" may  be  flippant,  clever,  arrogant,  and 
shallow. 

We  proceed  to  the  more  direct  business  of  this 


158  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

evening :  the  influence  of  Poetry  on  the  Working 
Classes.  Bat  first,  I  disclaim  the  notion  of  treat- 
ing this  subject  as  if  Poetry  had  a  different  sort 
of  influence  on  them  from  that  which  it  has  on 
other  classes.  Very  false  is  that  mode  of  thought 
which  recognizes  the  souls  of  the  classes  who  are 
not  compelled  to  work  as  composed  of  porcelain, 
and  of  those  who  are  doomed  to  work  as  made 
of  clay.  They  feel,  weep,  laugh,  alike ;  alike 
have  their  aspiring  and  their  degraded  moods  ; 
that  which  tells  on  one  human  spirit,  tells  also 
upon  another.  Much,  therefore,  of  what  is  to  be 
said  will  belong  to  men  of  work ;  not  specially, 
but  only  as  human  beings.  If  Poetry  influences 
men,  it  must  influence  Working  Men. 

The  influence  of  Poetry  depends  partly  on  the 
form  ;  and  partly  on  the  spirit  which  animates  the 
form.     I  will  consider  the  influence  of  form  first. 

We  have  defined  Poetry  to  be  a  work  of  im- 
agination wrought  into  form  by  art.  Poetry  is 
not  imagination,  but  imagination  shaped.  Not 
feeling  ;  but  feeling  expressed  symbolically ;  the 
formless  suggested  indirectly  through  form. 
Hence  the  form  is  an  essential  element  of  Po- 
etry ;  and  it  becomes  necessary  to  trace  its 
influence. 

The  form  in  which  poetical  feeling  expresses 
itself  is  infinitely  varied.     There  may  be  a  poet- 


BY  REV.   F.   W.  ROBERTSON.  159 

ical  act,  or  a  poetical  picture,  or  a  poetical  aspect 
of  scenery,  or  poetical  words  ;  to  which  last  form 
we  technically  give  the  name  of  Poetry. 

Take  an  example  from  an  expression  of  counte- 
nance, which  may  be  poetical.  There  are  feelings 
which  cannot  be  spoken  out  in  words  ;  therefore 
the  Creator  has  so  constituted  the  human  counte- 
nance that  it  is  expressive,  and  you  only  catch  the 
meaning  sympathetically  by  the  symbolism  of  the 
features.  We  have  all  seen  such  Poetry.  "We 
have  seen  looks  inspired.  We  have  seen  whole 
worlds  of  feeling  in  a  glance  ;  scorn,  hatred,  devo- 
tion, infinite  tenderness.  This  is  what,  in  por- 
traits, we  call  expression,  as  distinguished  from 
similarity  of  feature.  Innumerable  touches  per- 
fect the  one  ;  sometimes  one  masterly  stroke  will 
suggest  the  other,  so  that  nothing  can  add  to  it. 
This  is  Poetry.  To  such  a  look  the  addition  of  a 
word  would  have  spoilt  all — 

"  For  words  are  weak,  and  most  to  seek, 

When  wanted  fifty-fold : 
And  then,  if  silence  will  not  speak, 
And  trembling  lip,  and  changing  cheek, 

There's  nothing  told." 

The  form  of  Poetry,  again,  may  be  that  of  a 
symbolical  action.  The  Eastern  nations  express 
themselves  abundantly  in  this  way ;  and  if  the 
subject  were   not    too   sacred,   I   might    adduce 


160  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

many  examples  from  the  significant  actions  of  the 
Hebrew  prophets.  But  I  will,  instead,  instance 
a  case  of  modern  history.  Perhaps  you  have  read 
the  anecdote  (I  do  not  know  on  what  historical 
authority  it  rests)  of  the  Earl  of  Warwick,  in  one 
of  his  last  battles,  probably  that  of  Barnet,  when 
he  found  the  day  going  against  him,  dismounting 
from  his  favourite  charger,  and  before  all  his  army 
plunging  his  sword  into  his  heart,  thereby  cutting 
off  the  possibility  of  escape,  and  expressing  his 
resolve  there  to  win  or  fall.  Conceive  Warwick 
putting  that  into  direct  words.  Conceive  his 
attempting  to  express  all  that  was  implied  in  that 
act ;  the  energy  of  despair,  the  resolve,  the  infinite 
defiance,  the  untold  worlds  of  force  that  must  be 
in  a  man  who  could  do  an  act  the  whole  terrible- 
ness  of  which  none  but  a  soldier  could  appreciate, 
slaying  with  his  own  hand  the  horse  and  friend 
that  had  borne  him  through  death  and  perils.  And 
conceive  the  influence  upon  the  troops — how  it 
must  have  said  to  any  recreant  waverer  in  the 
ranks,  "  Stand  like  a  man,  and  dare  to  die !  " 

The  next  instance  is  a  less  dignified  one  ;  but 
I  select  it  that  we  may  discern  the  manifold 
shapes  and  degrees  of  poetic  form.  History  tells 
us  of  a  prince  of  France  who  asked  permission 
to  offer  a  present  to  one  much  loved.  The  per- 
mission was  given ;  the  gift  chosen,  a   portrait ; 


BY  REV.  F.  W.   ROBERTSON.  161 

but  with  a  stipulation  annexed,  in v  order  to  pre- 
vent extravagance,  that  it  should  not  be  larger 
than  could  be  worn  as  a  ring  upon  the  finger, 
and  that  it  should  not  be  set  in  jewels.  The 
portrait  was  completed  as  agreed  on ;  but,  instead 
of  a  glass,  it  was  covered  with  a  single  plate, 
cut  out  of  the  centre  of  an  enormous  diamond, 
which,  of  course,  was  sacrificed  in  the  cut- 
ting. When  the  ingenious  treachery  was  dis- 
covered, the  picture  was  returned  :  whereupon 
the  royal  lover  ground  the  diamond  to  powder, 
and  dusted  with  it,  instead  of  sand,  his  letter  of 
reply.  The  use  of  this?  It  was  useless.  Had 
it  been  a  matter  of  utility,  it  had  not  been  one 
of  Poetry.  It  was  modified  by  French  feeling, 
doubtless.  Yet  beneath  it  you  will  discern  some- 
thing that  was  not  merely  French,  but  human, 
and  which  constitutes  the  Poetry  of  the  whole 
system  of  present  giving.  That  which  in  the 
polite  Frenchman  was  something  more  than  gal- 
lantry, would  have  been  in  another,  and  in  him, 
too,  under  more  earnest  or  less  successful  cir- 
cumstances, the  chivalrous  feeling  which  desires 
to  express  itself  in  its  true  essence,  as  devotion 
to  the  weaker,  through  a  sacrifice  which  shall  be 
costly,  (the  costlier  the  more  grateful,  as  the  re- 
lief of  feeling  to  the  giver,)  and  which  shall  be 
quite  immeasurable  by,  and   independent  of,  the 


162  LECTURES    AND   ADDRESSES 

question  of  utility.  The  love  of  the  base  and 
plebeian  spirit  is  the  desire  to  take  all  it  can. 
The  love  of  the  nobler  spirit  is  the  desire  to  give 
all  it  can.  Sacrifice  is  its  only  true  expression  ; 
and  every  form  of  sacrifice  in  which  the  soul  tries 
to  express  and  relieve  itself,  whether  it  be  in  the 
lavish  magnificence  in  which  self  and  life  can  be 
freely  spent,  or  the  vulgar  magnificence  called 
princely,  with  which  gold  and  jewels  can  be 
squandered,  is  a  form  of  Poetry,  more  or  less 
dignified. 

It  will  now  be  clear,  that  in  the  large  sense  of 
the  word  Poetry,  its  proper  form  is  always  sym- 
bolism. The  poet  derives  his  power  from  the 
ardour  of  mankind  to  adopt  symbols,  and  catch 
enthusiasm  from  them.  Poetry  is  the  language 
of  symbolism. 

Therefore  we  all  are  susceptible  of  its  in- 
fluences. Many  a  man  who  thinks  he  has  no 
taste  for  Poetry,  because  he  does  not  chance  to 
feel  it  in  one  of  its  forms,  rhythmic  words,  is 
yet  no  stranger  to  its  power.  What  is  religious 
formalism,  but  an  exaggeration  or  petrifaction  of 
a  true  conviction — that  outward  forms  and  ma- 
terial symbols  have  a  language  of  their  own, 
fraught  with  a  deeper,  because  infinite,  religious 
significance  to  the  heart  than  ever  came  from  the 
poor  rhetoric  of  the  pulpit  ?     Why  is  it  that  on 


BY   REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  1 63 

the  battle  field  there  is  ever  one  spot  where  the 
sabres  glitter  faster,  and  the  pistol's  flash  is  more 
frequent,  and  men  and  officers  crowd  together  in 
denser  masses  ?  They  are  struggling  for  a  flag, 
or  an  eagle,  or  a  standard.  Strip  it  of  its  sym- 
bolism— take  from  it  the  meaning  with  which  the 
imagination  has  invested  it,  and  it  is  nothing  but 
a  bit  of  silk  rag,  torn  with  shot  and  blackened  with 
powder.  Now  go  with  your  common  sense  and 
tell  the  soldier  he  is  madly  striving  about  a  bit  of 
rag.  See  if  your  common  sense  is  as  true  to  him 
as  his  Poetry,  or  able  to  quench  it  for  a  moment. 
Take  a  case.  Among  the  exploits  of  marvel- 
lous and  almost  legendary  valour  performed  by 
that  great  Chieftain,  to  whom  not  many  years 
ago,  when  disaster  after  disaster  left  it  uncertain 
whether  the  next  mail  would  bring  us  news  that 
we  possessed  any  Indian  Empire  at  all,  the  voice 
of  England,  with  one  unanimous  impulse,  cried, 
"  There  is  one  man  in  Britain  who  has  the  right 
of  wisdom  as  well  as  courage  to  command  in 
chief," — that  daring  warrior  who,  when  the  hour 
of  danger  was  past,  and  the  hour  of  safety  had 
come,  was  forgotten  by  his  country ;  to  whom  in 
the  hour  of  fresh  danger  the  people  of  England 
will  look  again,  and  his  generous  spirit  will 
forget  neglect ;  who  has  been  laid  aside  uncoro- 
neted  and  almost  unhonoured,  because  he  would 

18 


164  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

promote  and  distinguish  the  men  of  work  in  pre- 
ference to  the  men  of  rank,  and  wealth,  and  titled 
idleness — amongst  his  achievements  not  the  least 
wondrous  was  his  subjugation  of  the  robber  tribes 
of  the  Cutchee  hills,  in  the  North  of  Scinde. 
Those  warriors  had  been  unsubdued  for  six  hun- 
dred years.  They  dwelt  in  a  crater-like  valley, 
surrounded  by  mountains,  through  which  there 
were  but  two  or  three  narrow  entrances,  and  up 
which  there  was  no  access  but  by  goat-paths,  so 
precipitous  that  brave  men  grew  dizzy  and  could 
not  proceed.  So  rude  and  wild  was  the  fastness 
of  Trukkee,  that  the  entrances  themselves  could 
scarcely  be  discovered  amidst  the  labyrinth-like 
confusion  of  rocks  and  mountains.  It  was  part 
of  the  masterly  plan  by  which  Sir  Charles  Napier 
had  resolved  to  storm  the  stronghold  of  the  rob- 
bers, to  cause  a  detachment  of  his  army  to  scale 
the  mountain  side.  A  service  so  perilous  could 
scarcely  be  commanded.  Volunteers  were  called 
for.  There  was  a  regiment,  the  64th  Bengal 
Infantry,  which  had  been  recently  disgraced,  in 
consequence  of  mutiny  at  Shikarpoor,  their  colo- 
nel cashiered,  and  their  colours  taken  from  them 
— a  hundred  of  these  men  volunteered.  "  Soldiers 
of  the  64th,"  said  the  commander,  who  knew  the 
way  to  the  soldier's  heart,  "  your  colours  are  on 
the  top  of  yonder  hill!"     I  should  like  to  have 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  165 

seen  the  precipice  that  would  have  deterred  the 
64th  regiment,  after  words  like  those  from  the 
lips  of  the  conqueror  of  Scinde ! 

And  now,  suppose  that  you  had  gone  with 
common-sense  and  economic  science,  and  proved 
to  them  that  the  colours  they  were  risking  their 
lives  to  win  back,  were  worth  but  so  many  shil- 
lings sterling  value — tell  me,  which  would  the 
stern  workers  of  the  64th  regiment  have  found  it 
easiest  to  understand,  common-sense  or  Poetry  ? 
Which  would  they  have  believed,  Science,  which 
said,  "  It  is  manufactured  silk  ;  "  or  Imagination, 
whose  kingly  voice  had  made  it  "  colours  "  ? 

It  is  in  this  sense  that  the  poet  has  been  called 
as  the  name  imports,  creator,  namer,  maker.  He 
stamps  his  own  feeling  on  a  form  or  symbol ; 
names  it,  and  makes  it  what  it  was  not  before ; 
giving  to  feeling  a  local  habitation  and  a  name, 
by  associating  it  with  form.  Before,  it  was  silk 
— so  many  square  feet ;  now,  it  is  a  thing  for 
which  men  will  die. 

And  here  we  get  at  two  distinctions — 

First,  between  the  poet  and  the  rhymester.  A 
poet  is  one  who  creates  or  names  ;  who  inter- 
prets old  or  new  thoughts  by  fresh  symbolism. 
The  rhymester  repeats  the  accredited  forms  and 
phrases  ;  and  because  he  has  got  the  knack  of 
using  metaphors  and  diction,  which  have  been 


166  LECTUKES  AND  ADDRESSES 

the  living  language  of  the  makers  of  them,  he 
is  mistaken  for  a  poet.  Smooth  writing,  and 
facility  of  versification,  and  expertness  in  piecing 
together  poetical  words  and  images,  do  not  con- 
stitute Poetry. 

Next,  a  distinction  between  the  poet  and  the 
mystic.  The  poet  uses  symbols,  knowing  that 
they  are  symbols.  The  mystic  mistakes  them  for 
realities.  Thus  to  Swedenborg  a  cloud,  or  a 
vine,  or  a  cedar,  correspond  throughout  Scripture 
with  one  mystic  spiritual  truth  ;  mean  one  thing, 
and  but  one.  And  thus  to  the  mystical  formalist, 
a  sign  or  symbol  is  confused  with  the  truth  which 
it  symbolizes ;  that  symbol  is  the  symbol  of  that 
truth;  and  to  treat  the  symbol  as  Hezekiah 
treated  the  brazen  serpent  is  sacrilege.  Now,  the 
poet  remains  sane  upon  this  point ;  his  "  fine 
frenzy "  never  reaches  the  insanity  which  mis- 
takes its  own  creations  for  fixed  realities.  To 
him  a  cloud  or  flower  may  express  at  different 
times  a  thousand  truths ;  material  things  are 
types  to  him,  in  a  certain  mood,  of  this  truth  or 
that ;  but  he  knows  that  to  another  person,  or  to 
himself  in  another  mood,  they  are  types  of  some- 
thing else. 

Tennyson  has  said  this  well — 

"  But  any  man  who  walks  the  mead, 
In  bud,  or  blade,  or  bloom  may  find, 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  167 

According  as  his  humours  lead, 
A  meaning  suited  to  his  mind. 
For  liberal  applications  lie 
In  Art  as  Nature,  dearest  friends  : 
So  'twere  to  cramp  its  use,  if  I 
Should  hook  it  to  some  useful  ena.  * 

And  this  will  help  us  to  discern  how  far  there  is 
truth  in  the  opinion  that  Poetry  belongs  to  the 
earlier  ages,  and  declines  with  the  advance  of 
civilization.  Symbols  perish — Poetry  never  dies. 
There  was  a  time  when  the  Trojan  war,  before 
Homer  sang  it,  was  what  Milton  says  of  the  un- 
sung wars  of  the  Saxon  Heptarchy,  a  conflict  of 
kites  and  crows ;  the  martyr's  stake,  a  gibbet ; 
Olympus  and  Parnassus,  and  a  hill  more  holy 
still,  common  hills.  The  time  may  come  when, 
as  they  were  once  without  poetical  associations, 
most  of  them  shall  be  unpoetical  again.  And 
because  of  such  a  dying  of  the  glory  from  the 
past,  people  begin  to  fancy  that  Poetry  has  per- 
ished. But  is  human  courage  lost,  fidelity,  imagi- 
nation, honourable  aims?  Is  the  necessity  of 
utterance  gone,  or  the  sufficiency  of  finite  words 
for  illimitable  feeling  greater?  When  the  old 
colours  of  a  regiment  are  worn  out,  it  is  some- 
times the  custom  to  burn  them,  and  drink  the 
ashes  in  wine,  with  solemn  silence,  before  the 
consecration  of  new  colours.    Well,  that  is  all  we 

18* 


168  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

want.  Let  old  forms  and  time-honoured  words 
perish  with  due  honour,  and  give  us  fresh  symbols 
and  new  forms'  of  speech  to  express,  not  what  our 
fathers  felt,  but  what  we  feel.  Goethe  says, 
"  The  spirit- world  is  not  foreclosed.  Thy  senses 
are  dulled ;  thy  heart  is  dead.  Arise,  become  a 
learner ;  and  bathe  that  earthly  breast  of  thine, 
unwearied,  in  the  dew  of  a  fresh  morning." 

And  this  alone  would  be  enough  to  show  that 
the  Poetry  of  the  coming  age  must  come  from 
the  Working  Classes.  In  the  upper  ranks,  Poetry, 
so  far  at  least  as  it  represents  their  life,  has  long 
been  worn  out,  sickly,  and  sentimental.  Its  man- 
hood is  effete.  Feudal  aristocracy  with  its  as- 
sociations, the  castle  and  the  tournament,  has 
passed  away.  Its  last  healthy  tones  came  from 
the  harp  of  Scott.  Byron  sang  its  funeral  dirge. 
But  tenderness,  and  heroism,  and  endurance  still 
want  their  voice,  and  it  must  come  from  the 
classes  whose  observation  is  at  first  hand,  and 
who  speak  fresh  from  Nature's  heart.  What  has 
Poetry  to  do  with  the  Working  Classes  ?  Men 
of  work !  we  want  our  Poetry  from  you — from 
men  who  will  dare  to  live  a  brave  and  true  life ; 
not  like  poor  Burns,  who  was  fevered  with  flat- 
tery, manful  as  he  was,  and  dazzled  by  the  vul- 
gar splendours  of  the  life  of  the  great,  which 
he    despised    and     still    longed    for;    but   rather 


BY   REV.   F.    \V.   ROBERTSON.  169 

like  Ebenezer  Elliot,  author  of  the  Corn  Law 
Rhymes.  Our  soldier  ancestors  told  yon  the 
significance  of  high  devotion  and'  loyalty  which 
lay  beneath  the  smoke  of  battle-fields.  Now  rise 
and  tell  us  the  living  meaning  there  may  be  in 
the  smoke  of  manufactories,  and  the  heroism  of 
perseverance,  and  the  poetry  of  invention,  and  the 
patience  of  uncomplaining  resignation.  Remem- 
ber the  stirring  words  of  one  of  your  own  poets : 

"  There's  a  light  about  to  break, 
There's  a  day  about  to  dawn  : 
*  Men  of  thought,  and  men  of  action  ! 

Clear  the  way  ! " 

Consider,  next,  the  influence  of  the  spirit  of 
Poetry  as  distinguished  from  the  particular  form 
in  which  it  may  be  manifested. 

The  poets  of  the  higher  order  are  susceptible 
of  a  still  further  subdivision.  There  are  those 
who  project  themselves  out  of  their  own  par- 
ticular being,  and  become  by  imagination  one 
with  that  on  which  they  meditate ;  and  those 
who  inform  all  they  gaze  on  with  their  own  in- 
dividuality. Those,  that  is,  who  sympathize  with 
all  that  is  created  ;  and  those  whose  imagination 
makes  all  to  sympathize  with  them.  I  need  not 
say  which  of  these  two  classes  is  the  domain  of 
the  higher  Poetry.  Wherever  egoism  enters, 
whether    it   be   into  life  or  into  art,  it  degrades 


170  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

and  narrows ;  he  through  whom  the  universe 
speaks  what  God  intended  it  to  speak,  is,  as  a 
poet,  greater  than  he  who  through  all  the  universe 
still  only  speaks  out  himself. 

Now  remark  the  different  influence  of  these 
classes. 

First,  we  have  those  whose  imagination  repre- 
sents all  nature  as  sympathizing  with  them  ;  and 
just  as  through  a  coloured  glass  a  landscape 
looks  red,  blue,  or  yellow,  as  the  glass  may  be 
tinted,  so  does  one  feeling  modify  all  others,  and 
colour  all  things  with  its  own  hue.  In  some 
measure  this  is  true   of  us  all. 

"  I  may  not  hope  from  outward  forms  to  win 
The  passion  and  the  life,  whose  fountains  are  within. 
O  Lady  !  we  receive  but  what  we  give, 
And  in  our  life  alone  does  nature  live : 
Ours  is  her  wedding  garment,  ours  her  shroud  !  "  * 

We  all  possess  this  tendency  when  the  imagi- 
nation has  been  intensified  by  one  single  passion, 
or  narrowed  by  one  absorbing  pursuit.  Let  me 
give  you  a  very  homely  illustration.  I  was  once 
passing  through  the  finest  street  in  England  on 
the  outside  of  a  mail  coach.  A  young  woman 
who  sat  near  me,  when  we  had  reached  the  end 
of  the  street,  suddenly  exclaimed,  "  I  never  saw 

*  Coleridge — "  Ode  to  Dejection." 


BY   REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  171 

so  many  narrow  doors  in  all  my  life ! "  When 
the  first  surprise,  produced  by  an  exclamation  so 
much  in  discord  with  my  own  thoughts,  had  sub- 
sided, I  began  to  make  inquiries,  and  discovered 
that  her  father  was  a  builder.  The  builder's 
daughter  had  cast  the  hue  of  her  daily  associa- 
tions over  every  thing.  To  her  the  buildings  gray 
with  the  hoar  of  ages  were  as  if  they  were  not ; 
historical  interest,  architectural  beauty,  solemn 
associations  did  not  exist.  To  her  there  was 
nothing  there  but  stones,  graven  by  the  stone- 
mason's chisel,  and  doors,  measurable  by  the  rule 
of  the  carpenter.  And  in  the  same  way  do  we 
all  colour  nature  with  our  own  pursuits.  To  a 
sportsman,  a  rich  field  is  covert  for  game ;  to  a 
farmer,  the  result  of  guano ;  to  a  geologist,  in- 
dication of  a  certain  character  of  subjacent  rock. 
It  is  very  instructive  to  observe  how  supersti- 
tion can  thus  summon  all  nature  to  be  the  minis- 
ter of  our  human  history,  especially  when  it  is 
rendered  more  imperious  in  its  demands  by  pride. 
There  is  scarcely  an  ancient  family  which  has 
not  the  tradition  of  preternatural  appearances  pre- 
ceding the  death  or  connected  with  the  destinies 
of  the  chief  members  of  the  race.  Shakspeare,  as 
usual,  gives  us  this.  Lear's  anguish  sheds  the 
hue  of  ingratitude  over  the  heavens.  To  Timon, 
sun,  and  moon,  and  stars  are  tinctured  with  his 


172  LECTURES   AND  ADDRESSES 

misanthropy.  To  Macbeth,  meditating  murder, 
all  nature  is  preternatural,  sounds  of  simple  in- 
stinct ominous,  and  all  things  conscious  of  his 
secret. 

"  Now  o'er  the  one  half- world 
Nature  seems  dead,  and  wicked  dreams  abase 
The  curtain'd  sleep ;  now  witchcraft  celebrates 
Pale  Hecate's  offerings ;  and  withered  murther, 
Alarum'd  by  his  sentinel,  the  wolf, 
"Whose  howl's  his  watch,  thus  with  his  stealthy  pace, 
With  Tarquin's  ravishing  strides,  towards  his  design 
Moves  like  a  ghost.     Thou  sure  and  firm-set  earth, 
Hear  not  my  steps,  which  way  they  walk,  for  fear 
Thy  very  stones  prate  of  my  whereabout, 
And  take  the  present  horror  from  the  time, 
Which  now  suits  with  it." 

"  Come,  sealing  night, 
Scarf  up  the  tender  eye  of  pitiful  day ; 
And,  with  thy  bloody  and  invisible  hand, 
Cancel,  and  tear  to  pieces,  that  great  bond 
Which  keeps  me  pale  !     Light  thickens ;  and  the  crow 
Makes  wing  to  the  rooky  wood  ; 
Good  things  of  day  begin  to  droop  and  drowse ; 
While  night's  black  agents  to  their  prey  do  rouse  ! " 

Observe,  again,  how  Casca's  conscience,  al- 
ready half-burdened,  distorts  the  simplest  phe- 
nomena : — 

"Against  the  capitol  I  met  a  lion, 
Who  glared  upon  me,  and  went  surly  by 


BY   REV.   F.    W.   ROBERTSON.  173 

Without  annoying  me ;  and  there  were  drawn 
Upon  a  heap  a  hundred  ghastly  women 
Transformed  with  their  fear ;  who  swore  they  saw 
Men  all  in  fire  walk  up  and  down  the  streets. 
And  yesterday,  the  bird  of  night  did  sit 
Even  at  noonday,  upon  the  market  place, 
Hooting  and  shrieking." 

Of  all  this  apparent  supernaturalism,  Cicero  gives 
the  true  account,  in  reply  : — 

"  Indeed,  it  is  a  strange  disposed  time ; 
But  men  may  construe  things  after  their  fashion, 
Clean  from  the  purpose  of  the  things  themselves." 

And  Calphurnia,  with  a  presentiment  of  her  hus- 
band's doom : — 

"  There  is  one  within, 
Besides  the  things  that  we  have  heard  and  seen, 
Recounts  most  horrid  sights  seen  by  the  watch. 
A  lioness  hath  whelped  in  the  streets : 
And  graves  have  yawned  and  yielded  up  their  dead : 
Fierce,  fiery  warriors  fight  upon  the  clouds 
In  ranks  and  squadrons  and  right  form  of  war, 
Which  drizzled  blood  upon  the  capitol : 
The  noise  of  battle  hurtled  in  the  air, 
Horses  do  neigh,  and  dying  men  did  groan : 
And  ghosts  did  shriek  and  squeal  about  the  streets." 

Mark,  too,  how,  as  I  said,  pride  has  its  share  in 
giving  shape  to  this  superstition.  Caesar  replies, 
the  valour  of  the  conqueror  defying  omens,  and 


174         LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

the  large  heart  of  the  man  recognizing  his  sub- 
jection to  the  laws  of  a  common  humanity  : 

"  Yet  Caesar  shall  go  forth  :  for  these  predictions 
Are  to  the  world  in  general,  as  to  Caesar." 

But  Calphurnia,  with  that  worship  of  high  birth 
which  is  peculiar  to  the  feminine  nature,  an- 
swers : — 

"  When  beggars  die  there  are  no  comets  seen  : 

The  heavens  themselves  blaze  forth  the  death  of  princes." 

So  wonderful  is  that  egoism  of  man  which  can 
thus  overspread  the  heavens  with  its  woes,  and 
read  in  the  planets  only  prophecies  of  himself! 
Now  that  which  belongs  to  us  all  in  some  moods, 
is  characteristic  of  some  poets  through  all  their 
nature,  and  pervades  their  work.  The  influence, 
therefore,  of  this  class  of  Poetry,  depends  upon 
the  man.  The  self  which  is  thrown  upon  nature 
may  be  the  lower  or  the  higher  self,  and  the  in- 
fluence will  be  correspondingly  of  the  lower  or 
the  higher  kind. 

Among  the  former  divisions  of  the  egoistic 
class  of  first-rate  poets,  severe  justice  compels 
me  with  pain  to  place  Lord  Byron.  Brought  up 
under  the  baleful  influences  of  Calvinism,  which 
makes  sovereign  Will  the  measure  of  Right,  in- 
stead of  Right  the  cause  and  law  of  Will,  a 
system  which  he  all  his  life  hated  and  believed — 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  175 

fancying  himself  the  mark  of  an  inexorable  de- 
cree, and  bidding  a  terrible  defiance  to  the  unjust 
One  who  had  fixed  his  doom — no  wonder  that, 
as  in  that  strange  phenomenon  the  spectre  of  the 
Brocken,  the  traveller  sees  a  gigantic  form  cast 
upon  the  mists,  which  he  discovers  at  last  to  be 
but  his  own  shadow;  so,  the  noble  poet  went 
through  life  haunted,  turn  which  way  he  would, 
with  the  gigantic  shadow  of  himself,  which  ob- 
scured the  heavens  and  turned  the  light  into  thick 
darkness. 

Foremost  among  those  in  whom  a  higher  self 
informs  all  objects,  stands  Milton.  We  are  com- 
pelled to  place  him  with  those  in  whom  egoism 
is  not  wholly  absorbed  in  nature.  Shakspeare  is 
a  "  voice."  Read  Shakspeare  through,  and,  except 
from  some  of  his  sonnets,  you  could  not  guess 
who  or  what  manner  of  man  he  was.  But  you 
could  not  read  Milton  long  without  discovering 
the  man  through  the  poet.  His  domestic  miseries 
are  reflected  in  his  "  Samson  Agonistes."  In  his 
"  Comus,"  that  majestic  psalm  to  Chastity,  are 
blended  the  antique  heroism  of  his  Pagan  studies, 
and  the  Christian  sanctities  of  his  rare  manhood. 
His  very  angels  reason  upon  Puritan  questions ; 
and  it  was  the  taunt  of  Pope,  that  in  the  Eternal 
lips  themselves,  redemption  is  a  contrivance  or 
scheme  according  to  the  systematic  theology  of  a 

19 


176         LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

school  divine.  And  yet  the  egoism  with  which 
all  his  Poetry  is  impregnated  is  the  egoism  of  a 
glorious  nature.  If  we  were  asked  who  in  the 
eighteen  Christian  centuries  stands  before  us 
as  the  highest  approximation  to  what  we  con- 
ceive as  Christian  manhood,  in  which  are  rarely 
blended  the  opposites  of  purity  and  passion, 
gracefulness  and  strength,  sanctity  and  manifold 
fitness  for  all  the  worldly  duties  of  the  man  and 
the  citizen,  we  should  scarcely  hesitate  to  answer 
— John  Milton.  The  poet  is  overshadowed  by 
the  individual  man :  but  the  influence  of  the  man 
is  all  for  good. 

Now  compare  with  these  the  poets  who  see  in 
Nature  not  themselves,  but  Nature ;  who  are  her 
voice,  not  she  theirs.  Of  this  class,  likewise, 
there  are  two  divisions :  the  first  represented  by 
Shakspeare,  the  second  by  Wordsworth. 

Shakspeare  is  an  universal  poet,  because  he 
utters  all  that  is  in  men  ;  Wordsworth,  because 
he  speaks  that  which  is  in  all  men.  There 
is  much  difference  between  these  two  state- 
ments. 

The  perfection  of  Shakspeare,  like  all  the 
highest  perfection,  consists,  not  in  the  predomi- 
nance of  a  single  quality,  or  feeling,  but  in  the 
just  balance  and  perfect  harmony  of  all.  You 
cannot   say  whether   the   tragic  element  of  our 


BY   REV.   F.    W.   ROBERTSON.  177 

nature,  or  the  comic,  predominates ;  whether  he 
has  more  sympathy  with  its  broad  laugh,  or  its 
secret  sigh;  with  the  contemplativeness  of  Ham- 
let, which  lets  the  moment  of  action  pass,  or  the 
promptitude  of  Hotspur ;  with  the  aristocratic 
pride  of  Coriolanus,  which  cannot  deign  to  can- 
vass the  mob  for  votes,  or  the  coarse  wit  and 
human  instincts  of  the  serving-men. 

Wordsworth,  on  the  contrary,  gives  to  us 
humanity  stripped  of  its  peculiarities;  the  feel- 
ings which  do  not  belong  to  this  man  or  that, 
this  or  that  age,  but  are  the  heritage  of  our  com- 
mon nature.  "  That,"  says  he  in  a  private  letter, 
"  which  will  distinguish  my  poems  hereafter  from 
those  of  other  poets,  is  this :  that  while  other 
poets  laboured  to  exhibit  that  which  distinguishes 
one  man  from  another,  especially  the  dramatic 
poets,  I  have  made  it  my  concern  to  exhibit  that 
which  is  common  to  all  men." 

As  a  specimen  of  this,  take  that  well-known 
poem  : 

"  She  was  a  phantom  of  delight, 
When  first  she  gleamed  upon  my  sight ; 
A  lovely  apparition,  sent 
To  be  a  moment's  ornament ; 
Her  eyes  as  stars  of  twilight  fair ; 
Like  twilight's,  too,  her  dusky  hair ; 
But  all  things  else  about  her  drawn 
From  May-time's  brightest,  loveliest  dawn ; 


278  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

A  dancing  shape,  an  image  gay, 
To  haunt,  to-  startle,  and  waylay. 

"  I  saw  her  upon  nearer  view, 
A  spirit,  yet  a  woman  too  ! 
Her  household  motions  light  and  free, 
And  steps  of  virgin  liberty  ; 
A  countenance  in  which  did  meet 
Sweet  records,  promises  as  sweet ; 
A  creature  not  too  bright  or  good 
For  human  nature's  daily  food ; 
For  transient  sorrows,  simple  wiles, 
Praise,  blame,  love,  kisses,  tears,  and  smiles, 

u  And  now  I  see  with  eye  serene 
The  very  pulse  of  the  machine ; 
A  being  breathing  thoughtful  breath, 
A  traveller  between  life  and  death ; 
The  reason  firm,  the  temperate  will, 
Endurance,  foresight,  strength,  and  skill ; 
A  perfect  woman,  nobly  planned, 
To  warn,  to  comfort,  and  command ; 
And  yet  a  spirit  still,  and  bright, 
With  something  of  an  angel  light." 

You  will  observe  that  it  is  not  a  portrait  like 
one  of  Shakspeare's,  in  which,  gradually,  a  partic- 
ular female  character  unfolds  a  personality  which 
belongs  to  Miranda  or  to  Juliet,  and  could  not 
belong  to  Cleopatra  or  to  Lady  Macbeth ;  nor 
a  description  like  Tennyson's,  which,  if  true  of 
Isabel  or  Lilian,   must   be   false   of   Adeline   or 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  179 

Eleanore  :  nor,  again,  this  or  that  woman,  col- 
oured in  the  false  hues  which  passion  or  fancy 
have  thrown  on  her  for  a  time  :  but  womanhood 
in  its  essence,  and  divested  of  its  peculiarities  of 
nation  or  century ;  such  as  her  Creator  meant  her 
to  be  ;  such  as  every  woman  is  potentially  if  not 
actually ;  such  as  she  appears  successively  to  the 
lover,  the  husband,  and  the  friend,  separating 
from  such  lover,  husband,  and  friend,  the  acci- 
dents of  an  English,  Spanish,  or  French  tem- 
perament. And  yet,  remark  that  this  woman- 
hood, so  painted,  is  not  a  mere  thin,  unsubstantial 
abstraction  of  the  intellect ;  but  a  living,  tangible 
image,  appreciable  by  the  senses,  a  single,  total 
impression,  "sensuous,"  as  Milton  says  of  Poetry: 
else  it  would  not  be  Poetry,  but  a  scientific  de- 
finition. You  have  before  you  an  ideal  clothed 
in  flesh  and  blood,  without  the  limitations  of  any 
particular  idiosyncrasy. 

This  is  the  sense  in  which  poets  like  Words- 
worth are  universal  poets  and  free  from  egoism ; 
very  different  from  the  sense  in  which  Shakspeare 
is  universal. 

Now  to  compare  the  various  influences  of  these 
poets.  And,  first,  to  compare  class  with  class. 
The  poet  in  whom  individuality  predominates 
will  have  a  more  definite  influence  ;  he  of  whom 
universality  is   the    characteristic,   a   more  wide 

19* 


180         LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

and  lasting  one.  The  influence  of  Cowper,  Mil- 
ton, or  Byron,  on  individuals  is  distinct  and  ap- 
preciable ;  that  of  Homer  and  Shakspeare,  almost 
imperceptible  on  single  minds,  is  spread  silently- 
over  ages,  and  determines  the  character  of  the 
world's  literature  and  the  world's  feeling. 

Comparing  each  class  with  itself,  and  taking 
first  that  which  we  have  characterized  as  the 
more  egoistic,  the  more  popular  will  be  almost 
always  the  less  pure,  because  the  passionate 
enthusiasm  for  what  is  great  and  good  is  shared 
by  few,  comparatively  with  the  power  of  com- 
prehending the  might  and  force  of  what  we  com- 
monly call  the  passions.  Milton  is  placed  with 
honour  on  our  shelves.  We  read  Byron  through 
and  through. 

Next,  of  the  poets  of  nature,  Shakspeare,  and 
the  very  few  who  can  be  ranked  with  him,  will 
be  more  popular  than  such  as  Wordsworth;  not 
because  he  is  greater,  though  he  is,  of  course, 
immeasurably,  but  because  his  greatness,  like  that 
of  nature's  self,  is  broken  into  fragments,  and  all 
can  find  in  him  something  corresponding  with 
their  humour.  Only  a  few,  like  Herschel  and 
Humboldt,  can  comprehend  with  something  like 
adequateness  the  Cosmos,  or  Order  of  the  Uni- 
verse ;  there  is  no  one  who  cannot  read  a  page 
of  it.     And  so,  very  few  of  those  who  talk  of 


BY  REV.  F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  181 

Shakspeare's  greatness,  know  how  great  he  is ; 
but  all  can  mark  with  pencil  dashes  certain  lines 
and  detached  acts ;  and  if  you  examined  the  copy 
so  dashed  and  marked,  you  would  probably  dis- 
cover what  in  Shakspeare  bears,  or  was  supposed 
to  bear,  reference  to  the  reader's  own  character, 
or  more  properly,  illustrated  his  or  her  private 
prejudices,  peculiarities,  and  personal  history; 
but,  unless  a  hand  as  free  from  egoism  as  Shaks- 
peare's  own  had  drawn  the  lines  of  approval,  you 
would  gain  from  the  book  of  extracts  made  up  of 
all  such  passages,  not  the  nature  of  Man,  but  the 
idiosyncrasy  of  a  man.  Tell  us,  therefore,  that  a 
man's  favourite  poet  is  such  as  Wordsworth,  and 
we  know  something  about  his  character ;  but  tell 
us  that  he  delights  in  Shakspeare,  and  we  know 
as  yet  no  more  of  him  than  if  it  had  been  said 
that  life  has  joys  for  him.  He  may  be  a  Marl- 
borough, or  he  may  be  a  clown. 

Permit  me  to  offer  you  two  pieces  of  advice, 
resulting  from  what  has  been  said. 

First,  Cultivate  universality  of  taste.  There  is 
no  surer  mark  of  a  half-educated  mind  than  the 
incapacity  of  admiring  various  forms  of  excel- 
lence. Men  who  cannot  praise  Dryden  without 
dispraising  Coleridge  ;  nor  feel  the  stern,  earthly 
truthfulness  of  Crabbe  without  disparaging  the 
wild,  ethereal,  impalpable  music  of  Shelley;  nor 


182  tK-C!TURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

exalt  Spenser  except  by  sneering  at  Tennyson, 
are  precisely  the  persons  to  whom  it  should  in 
consistency  seem  strange  that  in  God's  world 
there  is  a  place  for  the  eagle  and  the  wren,  a 
separate  grace  to  the  swan  and  the  humming- 
bird, their  own  fragrance  to  the  cedar  and  the 
violet.  Enlarge  your  tastes,  that  you  may  en- 
large your  hearts  as  well  as  your  pleasures ;  feel 
all  that  is  beautiful — love  all  that  is  good.  The 
first  maxim  in  religion  and  in  art  is — sever  your- 
self from  all  sectarianism ;  pledge  yourself  to  no 
school ;  cut  your  life  adrift  from  all  party ;  be  a 
slave  to  no  maxims ;  stand  forth,  unfettered  and 
free,  servant  only  to  the  truth.  And  if  you  say, 
"  But  this  will  force  each  of  us  to  stand  alone  ; " 
I  reply — Yes,  grandly  alone!  untrammelled  by 
the  prejudices  of  any,  and  free  to  admire  the 
beauty,  and  love  the  goodness  of  them  all. 

Secondly,  of  the  writers  whom  we  called  egois- 
tic, in  whom,  that  is,  the  man  predominates  over 
the  poet,  choose  such  only  as  are  the  unfeigned 
servants  of  goodness — I  do  not  mean  goodliness 
— to  be  your  special  favourites.  In  early  life  it 
is,  I  believe,  from  this  class  solely  that  our  favour- 
ites are  selected ;  and  a  man's  character  and  mind 
are  moulded  for  good  or  evil  far  more  by  the 
forms  of  imagination  which  surround  his  child- 
hood than  by  any  subsequent  scientific  training. 


BY  REV.   F.  W.  ROBERTSON.  183 

We  can  recollect  how  a  couplet  from  the  frontis- 
piece of  a  hymn-book  struck  deeper  roots  into 
our  being,  and  has  borne  more  manifest  fruits, 
than  all  the  formal  training  we  ever  got.  Or  we 
can  trace,  as  unerringly  as  an  Indian  on  the  trail, 
the  several  influences  of  each  poet  through  our 
lives:  the  sense  of  unjust  destiny  which  was 
created  by  Byron ;  the  taint  of  Moore's  voluptu- 
ousness ;  the  hearty,  healthful  life  of  Scott ;  the 
calming  power  of  Wordsworth;  the  masculine 
vigour  of  Dryden.  For  it  is  only  in  after  years 
that  the  real  taste  for  the  very  highest  Poetry  is 
acquired.  Life,  and  experience,  as  well  as  mental 
cultivation,  are  indispensable.  In  earlier  life  the 
influence  of  the  man  is  mightier  than  that  of  the 
poet.  Therefore,  let  every  young  man  especially 
guard  his  heart  and  imagination  against  the 
mastery  of  those  writers  who  sap  his  vigour  and 
taint  his  purity. 

We  proceed  to  name  a  few  of  the  modes  in 
which  Poetry  does  actually  influence  men : 

First.  In  the  way  of  giving  relief  to  feeling. 
It  is  a  law  of  our  nature  that  strong  feeling,  un- 
expressed either  in  words  or  action,  becomes 
morbid.  You  need  not  dread  the  passionate 
man,  whose  wrath  vents  itself  in  words ;  dread 
the  man  who  grows  pale,  and  suppresses  the 
language  of  his  resentment.     There  is  something 


184  lectures  and  addresses 

in  him  yet  to  come  out.  This  is  the  secret  of 
England's  freedom  from  revolution  and  conspi- 
racies ;  she  has  free  discussion.  Wrongs  do  not 
smoulder  silently,  to  burst  forth  unexpectedly. 
Every  grievance  may  have  a  hearing,  and  not 
being  pent  up,  spends  itself  before  it  is  dangerous. 

"  The  land  where,  girt  by  friend  or  foe, 
A  man  may  speak  the  thing  he  will."  * 

Now,  there  are  feelings  which,  unuttered, 
would  make  a  man  dangerous — or  morbid — or 
mad ; — utterance  relieves,  and,  weakening  the 
feeling,  makes  the  man  strong. 

"  To  me  alone  there  came  a  thought  of  grief: 
A  timely  utterance  gave  that  thought  relief, 
And  I  again  am  strong." 

For  such  feelings  the  poets  find  us  suitable 
expression.  In  an  artificial  state  of  society,  per- 
haps some  young,  warlike  spirit  pines  for  a  more 
dangerous  life  than  our  quiet  days  give.  Well, 
he  reads  Scott's  border  raids,  or  "  Scots  wha  hae 
wi'  Wallace  bled,"  or  "  Hohen  Linden,"  and  the 
vivid  forms  of  imagination  receive,  as  it  were,  his 
superfluous  energies,  and  the  chafing  subsides  in 
unreal  battle-fields:  or  some  diseased  germ  of 
misanthropy  is  enlarging  in  his  heart — secret  dis- 
content with  life ;  disagreement  with  the  world ; 
*  Tennyson. 


BY  REV.   F.    W.   ROBERTSON.  185 

conflict  between  his  nature  and  civil  regulations  ; 
let  him  read  Byron — a  dangerous  cure — but  in 
the  end  a  certain  one.  Byron  has  said  all  that 
can  be  said  upon  the  subject.  What  more  can 
be  added  ?  There  is  no  restless  feeling  left  be- 
hind of  something  unsaid.  Exhaustion  follows — 
then  health.  For  it  is  a  mistake  to  think  that 
Poetry  is  only  good  to  nurse  feeling.  It  is  good 
for  enabling  us  to  get  rid  of  feeling  for  which 
there  is  no  available  field  of  action.  It  is  the 
safety-valve  to  the  heart. 

It  has,  besides,  an  elevating  influence.  It 
breaks  the  monotonous  flatness  of  existence  by 
excitement.  Its  very  essence  is  that  it  exalts  us, 
and  puts  us  in  a  higher  mood  than  that  in  which 
we  live  habitually.  And  this  is  peculiarly  true 
of  modern  Poetry.  A  great  critic  *  has  said  that 
the  distinction  between  ancient  and  modern  Poe- 
try is,  that  the  characteristic  of  the  former  is 
satisfaction,  that  of  the  latter  aspiration.  To  the 
ancients  this  time-world  was  all.  To  round  it 
with  completeness,  and  hold  all  powers  in  har- 
monious balance,  was  their  whole  aim.  Whereas, 
Christianity  has  dwarfed  this  life  in  comparison 
with  the  thought  of  an  endless  existence  which  it 
has  revealed.  To  them  the  thought  of  death  only 
came  as  a  stimulus  to  increased  enjoyment  of 
*  Schlegel. 


186  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

that  which  must  soon  pass.  To  us  that  thought 
comes  moderating  and  calming  all  pleasure.  And 
hence  the  sad,  dark  character  of  Christian,  espec- 
ially northern  Poetry ;  as  the  utterance  of  a  heart 
which  is  conscious  of  eternal  discord  rather  than 
of  perfection  of  powers  ;  and  through  it  all  there 
vibrates  an  undertone  of  melancholy,  adding 
even  to  mirth  a  peculiar  pathos.  Is  it  not  better 
that  it  should  be  so  ?  Does  not  such  Poetry 
therefore  more  peculiarly  belong  to  Working 
Men,  whose  life  is  desire,  not  enjoyment ;  aspira- 
tion, not  contentment  ? 

Whoever  will  go  into  any  Gothic  cathedral  in 
the  evening,  knowing  nothing  of  the  connoisseur- 
ship  of  architecture,  and  watch  the  effect  produced 
on  his  mind  by  the  lines  which  wander  away,  be- 
wildering the  eye  with  the  feeling  of  endlessness, 
and  losing  themselves  in  the  dark  distances,  and 
will  then  compare  the  total  impression  with  that 
produced  by  the  voluptuous,  earthly  beauty  of  a 
temple  like  the  Madeleine  in  Paris,  will  under- 
stand, without  the  help  of  any  scientific  jargon, 
the  difference  between  the  ancient  idea  of  satis- 
faction and  the  modern  one  of  aspiration. 

But  when  we  say  Poetry  elevates,  let  it  not  be 
understood  of  the  improvement  of  physical  com- 
forts.    Poetry  will  not  place  a  man  in  better  cir 
cumstances;    but   it   may   raise   him   above   his 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  187 

circumstances,  and  fortify  him  with  inward  inde- 
pendence ;  as  Lovelace,  the  cavalier  poet,  has 
very  gracefully  expressed,  in  lines  written  in  con- 
finement : — 

"  Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make, 
Nor  iron  bars  a  cage ; 
Minds  innocent  and  quiet  take 
That  for  a  hermitage. 

"  If  I  have  freedom  in  my  love, 
And  in  my  soul  am  free, 
Angels  alone,  that  soar  above, 
Enjoy  such  liberty." 

And  yet,  as  there  are  some  persons  who  cannot 
conceive  of  human  elevation  except  as  connected 
with  circumstantial  condition,  I  must  tell  you  an 
anecdote  to  satisfy  even  them.  A  lady,  with 
whose  friendship  I  am  honoured,  was  travelling 
last  summer  in  the  Lake  district  of  Cumberland 
and  Westmoreland.  Being  interested  in  educa- 
tion, she  visited  many  of  the  National  Schools  in 
that  country.  For  the  most  part  the.  result  was 
uninteresting  enough.  The  heavy  looks  and  stolid 
intellects,  which  characterize  our  English  agricul- 
tural population,  disappointed  her.  But  in  one 
place  there  was  a  striking  difference.  The  chil- 
dren were  sprightly,  alert,  and  answered  with  in- 
telligence all  the  questions  proposed ;  traced  riv- 

20 


188  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

ers  from  their  sources  to  the  sea,  explaining  why 
the  towns  along  their  course  were  of  such  and 
such  a  character,  and  how  the  soil  had  modified 
the  habits  and  lives  of  the  inhabitants — with  much 
of  similar  information.  The  schoolmaster  had 
been  educated  at  one  of  our  great  training  semi- 
naries. He  was  invited  by  the  tourist  to  spend 
an  hour  at  the  hotel ;  and  when,  after  a  long  con- 
versation, she  expressed  her  surprise  that  one  so 
highly  educated  should  bury  himself  in  a  retired, 
unknown  spot,  with  small  stipend,  teaching  only 
a  few  rustics,  he  replied,  after  some  hesitation — 
"  Why,  Madam,  when  this  situation  was  first 
offered  me,  I  was  on  the  point  of  marriage ;  and 
I  calculated  that  it  would  be  worth  more  to  me 
to  live  on  a  small  salary,  with  domestic  peace,  in 
the  midst  of  this  beautiful  scenery,  than  on  a 
much  larger  sum  in  a  less  glorious  spot." 

Now,  there  are  people  who  can  only  estimate 
the  worth  of  a  thing  by  what  it  will  bring.  What 
is  the  use  of  Poetry  ?  Well,  perhaps  they  may 
answer  that  question  for  themselves,  if  I  have 
shown  that  refined  taste  may  be  an  equivalent  for 
half  an  income,  and  a  sense  of  what  is  beautiful 
in  God's  world  may  make  a  poor  man 

"  passing  rich  with  forty  pounds  a-)rear." 
The  tendency,   again,   of   Poetry   is   to    unite 


BY  REV.  F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  189 

men  together.  And  this  both  indirectly  and 
directly. 

It  has  been  already  said  thao  the  highest  Poetry 
is  that  which  represents  the  most  universal  feel- 
ing, not  the  most  rare.  It  is  in  this  sense  that 
Milton's  definition  makes  Poetry  "  simple ;  "  that 
is,  it  deals  with  the  feelings  which  we  have  in 
common,  as  men,  and  not  with  those  which  we 
possess  as  a  particular  sort  or  class  of  men ;  with 
the  natural  rather  than  the  trained,  artificial,  or 
acquired  feelings;  just  as  the  botanist  is  simple 
in  contrast  with  the  horticulturist.  The  one  seeks 
what  is  natural ;  and  to  him  nothing  in  nature 
is  a  weed.  The  other  seeks  rarities  and  hotbed 
monstrosities. 

The  Germans  say  that  the  world  has  produced 
only  three  poets  of  firstrate  genius : — Homer, 
Shakspeare,  and  Goethe.  This,  I  suppose,  is  an 
exaggeration  ;  nevertheless,  it  is  true  that  the 
highest  poets  have  been,  like  them,  not  a  class 
or  caste,  but  of  humanity.  Take,  almost  at  a 
venture,  the  first  familiar  names  that  present 
themselves. 

Milton,  by  all  the  associations  of  education  and 
refined  tastes,  belonged  to  the  royalists  and  the 
Church  ;  but  he  threw  himself,  in  spite  of  the 
vulgarities  which  repelled  him  personally  from  its 
worship,   and    left   him    at   last   without   visible 


190  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

worship,  on  the  side  of  the  conventicle,  because 
in  the  days  of  the  Stuarts  the  cause  of  the  con- 
venticle was  the  cause  of  liberty  and  truth. 

Dante  was  a  Romanist ;  but  no  slave  was  he 
of  popery.  His  world-wide  conception  represents 
the  heathens  and  the  Christians  of  all  ages  as  the 
subjects  of  one  moral  government,  responsible  to 
the  laws  impressed  upon  humanity  rather  than 
those  written  by  the  Church  ;  and  his  severe  jus- 
tice does  not  scruple  to  consign  a  long  list  of  bish- 
ops and  popes  to  the  eternal  penalty  of  crimes. 

Or,  again,  Byron  and  Shelley — aristocrats  both 
by  birth,  yet  no  minions  of  a  caste,  nor  champions 
of  hereditary  privilege — they  were  men  ;  and  their 
power  lay  in  this,  that  they  were  the  champions 
of  human  rights,  as  well  as  utterers  of  the  passion 
that  is  in  men.  So  far  as  they  are  great,  they  are 
universal ;  so  far  as  they  are  small  or  bad,  they 
are  narrow  and  egotistical.  And  as  time  rolls 
on,  that  which  is  of  self,  limited  and  evil,  will 
become  obsolete,  and  wither,  as  the  mortal  warp 
and  woof  shrivelled  on  the  arm  of  Halbert  Glen- 
dinning,  when  he  plunged  it  into  the  sacred  flame 
to  grasp  the  Volume  of  Truth  at  the  bidding  of 
the  White  Lady  of  Avenel ;  and  that  of  their 
works  which  will  remain  unconsumed  will  be  the 
living  flesh  of  the  humanity  that  never  dies — so 
much  as  is  true  to  universal  nature  and  to  fact 


BY  REV.  F.  W.  ROBERTSON.  191 

It  is  thus  that  the  poets  universalize  and  unite. 
"  One  touch  of  nature  makes  the  whole  world 
kin."  And,  hence,  Poetry  has  been  silently  doing 
a  work  for  the  poorer  classes  when  they  were  not 
aware  of  it;  for  even  that  Poetry  which  does 
not  interest  them,  may  be  opening  the  hearts  of 
the  richer  classes  towards  them.  Did  Burns  teach 
the  nobles  no  sympathy  with  the  cares,  and  the 
loves,  and  the  trials  of  the  cotter's  life  ?  And 
when  poor  Hood  wrote  the  "  Song  of  the  Shirt," 
so  touchingly  expressive  of  the  sorrows  of  an 
unknown  class,  the  over-worked  needlewoman, 
and  all  England,  thrilled  to  the  appeal : 

"  O  men,  with  sisters  dear  ! 

O  men,  with  mothers  and  wives ! 
It  is  not  linen  you're  wearing  out, 
But  human  creatures'  lives — " 

and  when,  in  consequence,  plan  after  plan  was 
tried,  and  investigations  instituted,  and  a  kindlier 
interest  evoked  to  ameliorate  their  condition,  tell 
us — Had  Poetry  done  nothing  for  the  Working 
Classes  ? 

But  it  has  a  more  direct  influence  than  this 
in  the  way  of  uniting.  Chiefly  from  that  power 
with  which  the  poetic  nature  is  peculiarly  gifted 
of  discovering  what  Shakspeare  calls  the  "  soul 
of  goodness  in  things  evil."  Every  great  poet  is 
a  "  double   natured   man ; "    with   the   feminine 

20* 


192  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

and  manly  powers  in  harmonious  union;  having 
the  tact,  and  the  sympathy,  and  the  intuition,  and 
the  tenderness  of  woman,  with  the  breadth  and 
massiveness  of  the  manly  intellect,  besides  the 
calm  justice  which  is  almost  exclusively  mascu- 
line. For  this  reason  a  poet,  seeing  into  the  life 
of  things,  is  not  one-sided;  can  see  the  truth 
which  lies  at  the  root  of  error;  can  blame  evil 
without  hysterically  raving  against  every  doer  of 
it;  distinguishes  between  frailty  and  villany; 
judges  leniently,  because  by  sympathy  he  can 
look  upon  faults  as  they  appear  to  those  who 
committed  them ;  judges  justly,  because,  so  far 
as  he  is  an  artist,  he  can  regard  the  feeling  with 
which  he  sympathizes  from  without ;  in  a  double 
way — realizing  it,  but  not  surrendered  to  it. 

I  must  quote  two  passages  explanatory  of  the 
world  of  meaning  contained  in  those  few  words 
of  Shakspeare :  the  "  soul  of  goodness  in  things 
evil." 

Wordsworth  means  the  same  when  he  says : — 

"  'Tis  Nature's  law 
That  none,  the  meanest  of  created  things, 
Of  forms  created  the  most  vile  and  brute, 
The  dullest  or  most  noxious,  should  exist, 
Divorced  from  good — a  spirit  and  pulse  of  good, 
A  life  and  soul,  to  every  mode  of  being 
Inseparably  linked.     Then  be  assured 
That  least  of  all  can  aujjht — that  ever  owned 


BY  EEV.   F.   W.   EOBERTSON.  193 

The  heaven-regarding  eye  and  front  sublime 
Which  man  is  born  to,  sink,  howe'ver  depressed, 
So  low  as  to  be  scorned  without  a  sin  ; 
Without  offence  to  God  cast  out  of  view." 

And  again  :— 

"  He  who  feels  contempt 
For  any  living  thing,  hath  faculties 
That  he  hath  never  used :  and  Thought  with  him 
Is  in  its  infancy." 

One  of  the  best  illustrations  I  can  remember 
of  this  prerogative  of  the  poet  to  fasten  the  atten- 
tion on  what  is  human  and  loveable,  rather  than 
on  what  is  evil,  is  Hood's  "  Bridge  of  Sighs." 
This  little  poem  is  suggested  by  the  sight  of  a 
poor  suicide,  who  has  cast  herself  from  one  of  the 
London  bridges.  Prudery,  male  or  female,  would 
turn  from  such  a  spectacle  with  disgust ;  the  dis- 
ciple of  some  school  of  cold  divinity  would  see 
in  it  only  a  text  for  a  discourse  on  hell.  The  poet 
discerns  something  in  it  of  a  deeper  mystery,  not 
so  flippantly  to  be  solved.     He  bids  you 

"  Touch  her  not  scornfully, 
Think  of  her  mournfully, 
Gently  and  humanly  ; 
Not  of  the  stains  of  her ; 
All  that  remains  of  her 
Now  is  pure  womanly. 
Make  no  deep  scrutiny 
Into  her  mutiny 


194  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

Rash  and  undutiful ; 
Past  all  dishonour, 
Death  has  left  on  her 
Only  the  beautiful." 

And  observe  how,  with  exquisite  truthfulness, 
he  fixes  your  attention,  not  upon  that  in  which 
the  poor  outcast  differs  from  you,  but  on  that  in 
which  her  sisterhood  to  the  human  family  con- 
sisted— and,  for  aught  you  may  dare  to  say,  still 
consists — 

"  Wonderment  guesses 

Where  was  her  home  ? 

Who  was  her  father  ? 

"Who  was  her  mother  ? 

Had  she  a  sister  ? 

Had  she  a  brother  ? 

Or  was  there  a  nearer  one 

Still,  and  a  dearer  one 

Yet,  than  all  other  ?  " 

And  mark  how — without  any  feeble  sentiment- 
alism,  without  once  confusing  the  boundaries  of 
right  and  wrong,  without  hinting  a  suspicion  that 
vice  is  not  vice,  and  wrong  not  wrong — he  simply 
reminds  you  that  judgment  does  not  belong  to 
you,  a  fellow-creature  and  a  sinner ;  and  bids  you 
place  her  in  the  attitude  in  which  alone  you  have 
a  right  to  regard  her  now — 

"  Cross  her  hands  humbly, 
As  if  praying  dumbly, 


BY  REV.  F.  W.  ROBERTSON.  195 

Over  her  breast ; 
Owning  her  weakness, 

Her  evil  behaviour, 
And  leaving  in  meekness 

Her  sins  to  her  Saviour." 

I  should  not  like  to  be  the  woman  who  could 
read  that  poem  without  something  more  than 
sentimental  tears,  an  enlarged  humanity,  and  a 
deeper  justice ;  nor  should  I  like  to  be  the  man 
who  could  rise  from  the  perusal  of  it  without 
a  mighty  throb  added  to  the  conviction  that 
libertinism  is  a  thing  of  damnable  and  selfish 
cowardice. 

Again,  Poetry  discovers  good  in  men  who  differ 
from  us,  and  so  teaches  us  that  we  are  one  with 
them.  For  the  poet  belongs  to  the  world  rather 
than  to  his  party ;  speaks  his  party's  feelings, 
which  are  human;  not  their  watchwords  and 
formulas,  which,  being  forms  of  the  intellect, 
are  transitory,  often  false,  always  limited.  Thus, 
Romanism  and  Puritanism,  and  their  modern 
feeble  descendants,  as  dogmatic  systems,  are  for- 
bidding enough.  But  listen  to  Dante,  and  you 
will  feel  that  purgatory,  false  as  a  dogma,  is  true 
as  the  symbolism  of  an  everlasting  fact  of  the 
human  soul.  Hear  Milton  sing,  and  the  heart  of 
Puritanism  is  recognized  as  a  noble  and  a  manly 
thing.     And,  however  repelled  you  may  be  by  the 


196        LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

false  metaphysics,  the  pretensions  to  infallible  in- 
terpretations, the  cant  phrases,  and  the  impotent 
intolerance  which  characterize  the  dwarfed  and 
dwindled  Puritanism  of  our  own  days,  out  of 
which  all  pith  and  manhood  appear  to  have  de- 
parted, who  does  not  feel  disposed  to  be  tender  to 
it  for  Cowper's  gentle  sake  ?  However  out  of 
date  the  effort  of  the  Tractarian  may  seem  to 
you,  to  reproduce  the  piety  of  the  past  through 
the  forms  of  the  past,  instead  of  striving,  like  a 
true  prophet,  to  interpret  the  aspirations  of  the 
present  in  forms  which  shall  truly  represent  and 
foster  them,  what  man  is  there  to  whose  heart 
Keble  has  not  shown  that  in  Tractarianism,  too, 
there  is  a  "  soul  of  goodness,"  a  life  and  a  mean- 
ing which  mere  negations  cannot  destroy  ? 

Lastly,  I  name  the  refining  influence  of  Poetry. 
We  shall  confine  our  proofs  to  that  which  it  has 
already  done  in  making  men  and  life  less  savage, 
carnal,  and  mercenary ;  and  this  especially  in  the 
three  departments  which  were  the  peculiar  sphere 
of  the  Poetry  which  is  called  romantic.  Beneath 
its  influence,  passion  became  love ;  selfishness, 
honour ;  and  war,  chivalry. 

The  first  of  these,  as  a  high  sentiment,  can 
only  be  said  to  have  come  into  existence  with 
the  Christianity  of  the  Middle  Ages.  All  who  are 
familiar  with  the  Greek  and  Roman  Poetry,  know 


BY  REV.  F.   W.  ROBERTSON.  197 

that  the  sentiment  which  now  bears  the  name, 
was  unknown  to  the  ancients.  It  became  what 
it  is  when  passion  had  been  hallowed  by  imagina- 
tion. Then,  and  not  till  then,  it  became  loyalty 
to  female  worth,  consecrated  by  religion.  For 
the  sacred  thought  of  a  Virgin  Mother  spread  its 
sanctity  over  the  whole  idea  of  the  sex.  Chris- 
tianity had  given  to  the  world  a  new  object  for 
its  imagination;  and  the  idolatry  into  which  it 
passed  in  the  Church  of  Rome,  was  but  the  inev- 
itable result  of  the  effort  of  rude  minds  struggling 
to  express  in  form  the  new  idea  of  a  divine  sa- 
credness  belonging  to  feminine  qualities  of  meek- 
ness and  purity,  which  the  ages  before  had  over- 
looked. That  this  influence  of  the  religious  ele- 
ment of  the  imagination  on  the  earthlier  feeling 
is  not  fanciful  but  historical,  might  be  shown  in 
the  single  case  of  Ignatius  Loyola,  on  whose  ar- 
dent temperament  the  influences  of  his  age  worked 
strongly.  Hence  it  was  that  there  seemed  noth- 
ing profane  when  the  chivalrous  gallantry  of  the 
soldier  transformed  itself  by,  to  him,  a  most  na- 
tural transition,  into  a  loyal  dedication  of  all  his 
powers  to  One  who  was  "  not  a  countess,  nor  a 
duchess,  but  much  greater."  But  only  think  how 
he  must  have  shrunk  from  this  transference  of 
homage,  as  blasphemous,  if  his  former  earthlier 
feelings    had    not    been    elevated  by  a  religious 


198  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

imagination ;  if,  in  short,  his  affections  had  been 
like  those  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans ! 

And  while  on  the  subject  of  the  influence  of 
all  the  higher  feelings  in  elevating  passion  into 
that  which  is  unselfish  and  pure,  and  even  sub- 
lime, I  will  remind  you  of  those  glorious  lines 
of  Lovelace  in  reply  to  a  reproach  on  account 
of  absence  caused  by  duty  : 

"  Yet  this  inconstancy  is  such 
As  you,  too,  shall  adore ; 
I  could  not  love  thee,  dear,  so  much, 
Loved  I  not  honour  more." 

Under  the  influence  of  imagination,  selfishness 
became  honour.  Doubtless,  the  law  of  honour 
is  only  half  Christian.  Yet  it  did  this  :  it  pro- 
claimed the  invisible  truth  above  the  visible  com- 
fort. It  consecrated  certain  acts  as  right,  uncal- 
culatingly,  and  independently  of  consequences. 
It  did  not  say — it  will  be  better  for  you  in  the 
end  if  you  do  honourably.  It  said — you  must  do 
honourably,  though  it  be  not  better  for  you  to  do 
it,  but  worse,  and  deathful.  It  was  not  religion ; 
but  it  was  better  than  the  popular,  merely  pru- 
dential, mercenary  religion,  which  says,  "  Honesty 
is  the  best  policy ;  godliness  is  gain  ;  do  right 
and  you  will  not  lose  by  it."  Honour  said,  Per- 
haps you   will  lose — all — life ;  lose  then,  like  a 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  199 

man ;  for  there  is  something  higher  than  life, 
dearer  than  even  your  eternal  gain.  It  was  not 
purely  religious ;  for  it  retained  the  selfish  ele- 
ment. But  it  was  a  more  refined  selfishness 
which  permitted  a  man  to  take  another's  life  in 
defence  of  his  honour,  than  that  which  requires 
him  to  do  it  in  defence  of  his  purse. 

Finally,  through  poetic  imagination  war  be- 
came chivalry.  The  practice  of  arms  ceased  to 
be  "  a  conflict  of  kites  and  crows ; "  it  was 
guarded  by  a  refined  courtesy  from  every  rude 
and  ungenerous  abuse  of  superior  strength. 

Upon  this  point  there  is  much  sophistry  prev- 
alent ;  therefore  it  is  worth  while  to  see  how  the 
matter  really  stands.  A  truly  great  man — the 
American  Channing — has  said,  I  remember, 
somewhere  in  his  works,  that  if  armies  were 
dressed  in  a  hangman's  or  a  butcher's  garb,  the 
false  glare  of  military  enthusiasm  would  be  de- 
stroyed, and  war  would  be  seen  in  its  true  aspect 
as  butchery. 

It  is  wonderful  how  the  generous  enthusiasm 
of  Dr.  Channing  has  led  him  into  such  a  soph- 
ism. Take  away  honour,  and  imagination,  and 
Poetry  from  war,  and  it  becomes  carnage.  Doubt- 
less. And  take  away  public  spirit  and  invisible 
principles  from  resistance  to  a  tax,  and  Hamp- 
den becomes  a  noisy  demagogue.  Take  away 
21 


200  LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES 

the  grandeur  of  his  cause,  and  Washington  is  a 
rebel,  instead  of  the  purest  of  patriots.  Take 
away  imagination  from  love,  and  what  remains  ? 
Let  a  people  treat  with  scorn  the  defenders  of 
its  liberties,  and  invest  them  with  the  symbols 
of  degradation,  and  it  will  soon  have  no  one  to 
defend  it.     This  is  but  a  truism. 

But  it  is  a  falsity  if  it  implies  that  the  mere 
change  of  symbolic  dress,  unless  the  dress  truly 
represented  a  previous  change  of  public  feeling, 
would  reverse  the  feeling  with  which  the  profes- 
sion of  arms  is  regarded.  So  long  as  people 
found  it  impossible  to  confound  the  warrior  with 
the  hangman,  all  that  a  change  of  garb  could  do 
would  be  to  invest  the  sign  with  new  dignity. 
Things  mean  become  noble  by  association ;  the 
Thistle — the  Leek — the  Broom  of  the  Plantage- 
nets — the  Garter — and  the  Death's  Head  and 
Cross  Bones  on  the  front  of  the  Black  Bruns- 
wickers,  typical  of  the  stern  resolve  to  avenge 
their  Chief — methinks  those  symbols  did  not  ex- 
actly change  the  soldier  into  a  sexton  ! 

But  the  truth  is  that  here,  as  elsewhere,  Poetry 
has  reached  the  truth,  while  science  and  common- 
sense  have  missed  it.  It  has  distinguished — as, 
in  spite  of  all  mercenary  and  feeble  sophistry, 
men  ever  will  distinguish — war  from  mere  blood- 
shed.    It  has  discerned  the  higher  feelings  which 


BY  KEV.   F.  W.  ROBERTSON.  201 

lie  beneath  its  revolting  features.  Carnage  is 
terrible.  The  conversion  of  producers  into  des- 
troyers is  a  calamity.  Death,  and  insults  to 
woman  worse  than  death — and  human  features 
obliterated  beneath  the  hoof  of  the  war-horse — 
and  reeking  hospitals,  and  ruined  commerce,  and 
violated  homes,  and  broken  hearts — they  are  all 
awful.  But  there  is  something  worse  than  death. 
Cowardice  is  worse.  And  the  decay  of  enthu- 
siasm and  manliness  is  worse.  And  it  is  worse 
than  death,  aye,  worse  than  a  hundred  thousand 
deaths,  when  a  people  has  gravitated  down  into 
the  creed  that  the  "  wealth  of  nations  "  consists, 
not  in  generous  hearts — "  Fire  in  each  breast, 
and  freedom  on  each  brow  " — in  national  virtues, 
and  primitive  simplicity,  and  heroic  endurance, 
and  preference  of  duty  to  life ; — not  in  men,  but 
in  silk,  and  cotton,  and  something  that  they  call 
u  capital."  Peace  is  blessed.  Peace,  arising  out 
of  charity.  But  peace,  springing  out  of  the  cal- 
culations of  selfishness,  is  not  blessed.  If  the 
price  to  be  paid  for  peace  is  this,  that  wealth 
accumulate  and  men  decay,  better  far  that  every 
street  in  every  town  of  our  once  noble  country 
should  run  blood ! 

Through  the  physical  horrors  of  warfare,  Poetry 
discerned  the  redeeming  nobleness.  For  in  truth, 
when  war  is  not  prolonged,  the  kindling  of  all 


202  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

the  higher  passions  prevents  the  access  of  the 
baser  ones.  A  nation  split  and  severed  by  mean 
religious  and  political  dissensions,  suddenly  feels 
its  unity,  and  men's  hearts  beat  together,  at  the 
mere  possibility  of  invasion.  And  even  woman, 
as  the  author  of  the  "  History  of  the  Peninsular 
War"  has  well  remarked,  sufferer  as  she  is  by 
war,  yet  gains  ;  in  the  more  chivalrous  respect 
paid  to  her,  in  the  elevation  of  the  feelings  excited 
towards  her,  in  the  attitude  of  protection  assumed 
by  men,  and  in  the  high  calls  to  duty  which 
arouse  her  from  the  frivolousness  and  feebleness 
into  which  her  existence  is  apt  to  sink. 

I  will  illustrate  this  by  one  more  anecdote  from 
the  same  campaign  to  which  allusion  has  been 
already  made  —  Sir  Charles  Napier's  campaign 
against  the  robber  tribes  of  Upper  Scinde. 

A  detachment  of  troops  was  marching  along  a 
valley,  the  cliffs  overhanging  which  were  crested 
by  the  enemy.  A  sergeant,  with  eleven  men, 
chanced  to  become  separated  from  the  rest  by 
taking  the  wrong  side  of  a  ravine,  which  they 
expected  soon  to  terminate,  but  which  suddenly 
deepened  into  an  impassable  chasm.  The  officer 
in  command  signalled  to  the  party  an  order  to 
return.  They  mistook  the  signal  for  a  command 
to  charge ;  the  brave  fellows  answered  with  a 
cheer,  and  charged.     At  the  summit  of  the  steep 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTS  OK.  203 

mountain  was  a  triangular  platform,  defended  by 
a  breastwork,  behind  which  were  seventy  of  the 
foe.  On  they  went,  charging  up  one  of  those 
fearful  paths,  eleven  against  seventy.  The  con- 
test could  not  long  be  doubtful  with  such  odds. 
One  after  another  they  fell ;  six  upon  the  spot, 
the  remainder  hurled  backwards  ;  but  not  until 
they  had  slain  nearly  twice  their  own  number. 

There  is  a  custom,  we  are  told,  amongst  the 
hillsmen,  that  when  a  great  chieftain  of  their  own 
falls  in  battle,  his  wrist  is  bound  with  a  thread 
either  of  red  or  green,  the  red  denoting  the  highest 
rank.  According  to  custom,  they  stripped  the 
dead,  and  threw  their  bodies  over  the  precipice. 
When  their  comrades  came,  they  found  their 
corpses  stark  and  gashed ;  but  round  both  wrists 
of  every  British  hero  was  twined  the  red  thread !  * 

I  think  you  will  perceive  how  Poetry,  express- 
ing in  this  rude  symbolism  unutterable  admira- 
tion of  heroic  daring,  had  given  another  aspect  to 
war  than  that  of  butchery ;  and  you  will  under- 
stand how,  with  such  a  foe,  and  such  a  general 
as  the  English  commander,  who  more  than  once 
refused  battle  because  the  wives  and  children  of 
the  enemy  were  in  the  hostile  camp,  and  he  feared 
for  their  lives,  carnage  changed  its  character,  and 

*  "  History  of  the   Administration  of  Scmde,"    by  Lieut. 
Gen.  Sir  William  Napier. 

21* 


y 


204         LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

became  chivalry  ;  and  how  it  was  that  the  British 
troops  learned  to  treat  their  captive  women  with 
respect ;  and  the  chieftains  of  the  Cutchee  hills 
offered  their  swords  and  services  with  enthusiasm 
to  their  conqueror ;  and  the  wild  hill-tribes,  trans- 
planted to  the  plains,  became  as  persevering  in 
agriculture  as  they  had  been  before  in  war. 

And  now  to  conclude.  They  tell  us  that 
scenes  such  as  this  may  be  called  for  in  this  our 
England.  I  do  not  pretend  to  judge.  We  only 
know  that  a  military  nation  is  at  our  doors  with 
450,000  gallant  soldiers  under  arms,  every  man 
burning  to  wipe  out  the  memory  of  past  defeats, 
with  one  at  their  head  the  prestige  of  whose 
name  recalls  an  era  of  unparalleled  brilliancy, 
many  of  them  trained  in  a  school  of  warfare 
where  the  razzias  of  Africa  have  not  taught 
either  scrupulosity  or  mercifulness.  We  know 
that  a  chieftain  who  is  to  rule  France  with  any 
hope  of  imperial  influence,  can  best  secure  enthu- 
siasm by  giving  victory  to  her  armies ;  and  that 
French  generals  have  already  specified  the  way 
in  which — I  quote  the  words  of  Paixham — a 
lesson  might  be  taught  to  England  which  she 
should  not  soon  forget. 

No  one  who  loves  his  country, — no  one  who 
knows  what  is  meant  by  the  sack  of  a  town%  espe- 
cially by  French  soldiers, — can  contemplate  the 


BY   EEV.   F.    W.   ROBEKTSON.  205 

possibility  of  such  an  event,  without  a  fervent 
hope  that  that  day  may  never  come.  Nor  does 
it  become  us  to  boast ;  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
platform  is  easy,  and  costs  little ;  and  we  may  be 
called  upon,  before  very  long,  to  show  by  some- 
thing more  than  words,  whether  there  be  steel  in 
our  hearts  and  hands,  or  not. 

But  thus  much  I  will  dare  to  say.  If  a  foreign 
foot  be  planted  on  our  sacred  soil — if  the  ring  of 
the  rifle  of  the  Chasseurs  de  Vincennes  be  heard 
upon  these  shores,  terrible  as  the  first  reverses 
might  be,  when  discipline  could  be  met  only  by 
raw  enthusiasm — thanks  to  gentlemen  who  have 
taught  us  the  sublime  mysteries  of  "  capital "  in 
lieu  of  the  old  English  superstitions  of  Honour 
and  Religion — they  may  yet  chance  to  learn  that 
British  Chivalry  did  not  breathe  her  last  at  Mood- 
kee  or  Ferozeshah,  or  Sobraon,  or  Goojerat,  or 
Meeanee,  or  Hyderabad.  They  may  yet  be 
taught  that  there  is  something  beyond  the  raw 
hysterics  of  a  transient  excitement  in  the  spirit 
of  self-sacrifice  which  we  have  learned  from  our 
Master's  cross.  They  may  yet  discover  that 
amongst  the  artisans,  and  peasants,  and  working 
men  of  England,  there  are  a  thousand  thousand 
worthy  to  be  brothers  of  those  heroic  eleven  who 
sleep  beneath  the  rocks  of  Trukkee,  with  the  red 
thread  of  Honour  round  their  wrists. 


LECTURE   ON   WORDSWORTH- 


LECTURES,  &c.  BY  REV.  F.  W.  ROBERTSON.  209 


Lecture  on  Wordsworth,  delivered  to  the  Members 
of  the  Brighton  Athenaeum,  on  February  10th, 
1853. 

In  order  to  treat  fully  the  subject  which  I  have 
to  bring  before  you  this  evening,  I  believe  there 
are  three  points  to  which  I  ought  principally  to 
direct  your  attention.  The  first  is,  the  qualifica- 
tions necessary  for  appreciating  poetry  in  general, 
and  for  appreciating  the  poetry  of  Wordsworth  in 
particular.  The  second  is  the  character  and  life 
of  Wordsworth,  so  far  as  they  bear  upon  his 
poetry,  and  so  far  as  they  may  have  been  sup- 
posed to  have  formed  or  modified  his  peculiar 
poetical  theories  and  principles.  The  third  point 
is,  the  theories  and  poetical  principles  of  Words- 
worth, and  how  far  they  are  true,  how  far  they 
have  been  exaggerated,  and  how  far  Wordsworth 
has  himself  worked  out  the  principles  he  has  laid 
down. 

Now,  it  will  be  plain  that  the  last  of  these  is 
the  most  important  point  of  all ;  it  is,  in  fact, 
the  subject  of  our  consideration ;    but   so  many 


210  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

preliminary  subjects  have  presented  themselves 
which  must  be  gone  into  before  we  enter  upon 
this,  that  I  have  found  it  necessary  to  reserve  this 
third  topic  for  a  succeeding  lecture,*  confining 
myself  on  the  present  occasion  merely  to  the 
two  first  points  that  I  have  already  named. 

I  have  undertaken  to  lecture  this  evening  upon 
Wordsworth.  To  some  persons  this  will  appear 
presumption ;  to  others,  it  will  appear  superfluous. 
To  all  the  admirers  of  Wordsworth's  genius,  it 
will  appear  presumption.  To  these  I  simply 
reply,  I  know  well  the  difficulty  of  the  subject,  I 
know  how  impossible  it  is  to  treat  it  adequately ; 
I  am  aware  that  presumption  is  implied  in  the 
thought,  that  before  it  is  possible  to  criticize  a 
man  one  must  sympathize  with  him,  and  that  to 
sympathize  with  a  man  implies  that  there  is,  to  a 
certain  extent,  a  power  of  breathing  the  same 
atmosphere.  Nevertheless,  I  reply  that  it  is  with 
me,  at  least,  a  work  and  labour  of  love ;  nor 
can  I  believe,  that  any  one  who  has  for  years 
studied  Wordsworth  and  loved  him,  and  year 
by  year  felt  his  appreciation  and  comprehension 
of  Wordsworth  grow,  and  has  during  all  those 
years  endeavoured  to  make  Wordsworth's  princi- 
ples the  guiding  principles  of  his  own  inner  life 

*  This  lecture  was  never  delivered,  owing  to  Mr.  Robert- 
son's ill-health. 


BY  REV.   F.   W.  ROBERTSON.  211 

— I  cannot  believe  that  such  a  man  can  have 
nothing  to  say  which  it  can  be  desirable  should 
be  heard  by  his  fellow  men. 

There  is  another  class,  however,  to  whom  such 
a  subject  will  seem  superfluous ;  for  the  general 
opinion  about  Wordsworth  is  exceedingly  super- 
ficial. To  the  mass  of  the  public  all  that  is 
known  of  Wordsworth  is  a  conception  something 
like  this :  They  have  heard  of  an  old  man  who 
lived  somewhere  in  the  Lake  districts,  who 
raved  considerably  of  Lake  scenery,  who  wrote 
a  large  number  of  small  poems,  all  of  them  inno- 
cent, many  of  them  puerile  and  much  laughed 
at,  at  the  time  they  appeared,  by  clever  men ; 
that  they  were  lashed  in  the  reviews,  and  annihi- 
lated  by  Lord  Byron,  as,  for  instance,  in  those 
well-known  lines — 

"  A  drowsy,  frowsy  poem,  called  the  Excursion, 
Writ  in  a  manner  which  is  my  aversion ; " 

and  that  he  was  guilty  of  a  vast  mass  of  other 
verses,  all  exceedingly  innocent,  and  at  the  same 
time  exceedingly  dull  and  heavy.  It  is  this  class 
of  persons  whom  I  ask  on  the  present  occasion  to 
listen  quietly  to  the  first  subject  I  have  to  bring 
before  them — the  qualifications  necessary  for  ap- 
preciating poetry  in  general  and  Wordsworth's 
poetry  in  particular. 

Now,  the  first  qualification  I  shall  speak  of  as 

22 


212  LECTUEES   AND   ADDRESSES 

necessary  for  appreciating  poetry  is  unworldliness. 
Let  us  understand  the  term  employed.  By  world- 
liness,  I  mean  entanglement  in  the  temporal  and 
visible.  It  is  the  spirit  of  worldliness  which 
makes  a  man  love  show,  splendour,  rank,  title, 
and  sensual  enjoyments  ;  and  occupies  his  atten- 
tion, chiefly  or  entirely,  with  conversations  respect- 
ing merely  passing  events,  and  passing  acquaint- 
ances. I  know  not  that  I  could  give  a  more 
distinct  idea  of  what  I  mean  by  unworldliness, 
than  by  relating  an  anecdote  of  a  boy  of  rare 
genius,  inheriting  genius  from  both  parents,  who, 
when  he  began  the  study  of  mathematics,  was 
impressed  with  so  strange  and  solemn  a  sense  of 
awe,  that  never  before,  he  said,  had  he  been  able 
to  comprehend  the  existence  of  the  Eternal.  It  is 
not  difficult  to  understand  what  the  boy  meant. 
Mathematics  contain  truths  entirely  independent 
of  Time  and  Space ;  they  tell  of  relations  which 
have  no  connection,  necessarily,  with  weight  or 
quality ;  they  deal  with  the  eternal  principles  and 
laws  of  the  mind ;  and  it  is  certain,  that  these 
laws  are  more  real  and  eternal  than  any  thing 
which  can  be  seen  or  felt.  This  is  what  I  mean 
by  unworldliness :  I  am  not  speaking  of  it  as  a 
theologian,  or  as  a  religionist,  but  I  am  speaking 
of  unworldliness  in  that  sense,  of  which  it  is  true 
of  all  science  and  high  art,  as  well  as  of  Nature. 


BY   REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  213 

For  all  high  art  is  essentially  unworldliness,  and 
the  highest  artists  have  been  unworldly  in  aim, 
and  unworldly  in  life. 

Let  us  compare  the  life  of  Benvenuto  Cellini. 
I  name  him,  because  there  has  been  given  recently 
to  the  public  a  life  of  him  in  a  popular  form. 
Let  us4compare  his  life  with  the  life  of  Raphael, 
or  Michael  Angelo,  or  Beethoven,  or  Canova. 
You  will  be  struck  with  this  difference,  that  in 
Benvenuto  Cellini  there  was  an  entire  absence  of 
any  thing  like  aspiration  beyond  the  Visible  and 
the  Seen  ;  but  in  the  life  of  the  others  there  was 
the  strong  and  perpetual  conviction  that  the 
things  seen  were  the  things  unreal,  and  that  the 
things  unseen  were  the  things  real;  there  was  the 
perpetual  desire  to  realize  in  a  visible  form,  that 
beauty  which  the  eye  had  not  seen  nor  the  ear 
heard,  nor  which  it  had  ever  entered  into  the  heart 
of  man  to  conceive.  I  will  here  quote  one  single 
passage  in  illustration  of  this  ;  it  is  a  translation 
by  Wordsworth  himself,  from  one  of  the  sonnets 
of  Michael  Angelo  :  it  is  simply  an  illustration 
of  what  I  have  said : — 

"  Heaven-born,  the  soul  a  heavenward  course  must  hold ; 
Beyond  the  visible  world  she  soars  to  seek 
(For  what  delights  the  sense  is  false  and  weak) 
Ideal  form,  the  universal  mould. 
The  wise  man,  I  affirm,  can  find  no  rest 


214  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

In  that  "which  perishes ;  nor  will  he  lend 

His  heart  to  aught  which  doth  on  time  depend." 

This  is  a  view  of  high  art :  and  in  this  respect 
poetry,  like  high  art,  and  like  religion,  introduces 
its  votaries  into  a  world  of  which  the  senses  take 
no  cognizance ;  therefore  I  now  maintain  that 
until  a  man's  eyes  have  been  clarified  by  that 
power  which  enables  him  to  look  beyond  the 
visible ;  until — 

u  He  from  thick  films  shall  purge  the  visual  ray, 
And  on  the  sightless  eyeball  pour  the  day/' 

poetry — high  poetry,  like  Wordsworth's — is  simp- 
ly and  merely  unintelligible. 

I  will  give  two  or  three  illustrations  of  the  way 
in  which  Wordsworth  himself  looked  on  this  sub- 
ject. The  first  is  in  reference  to  the  power  which 
there  is  in  splendour  and  in  riches  to  unfit  the 
mind  for  the  contemplation  of  invisible  and  spirit- 
ual truths.  The  sonnet  I  am  about  to  read  was 
written  in  September,  1802,  the  period  during 
which  the  chief  part  of  the  poems  I  shall  read 
this  evening  were  written.  I  believe  it  was  writ- 
ten to  Coleridge. 

"  Oh  !  friend,  I  know  not  which  way  I  must  look 
For  comfort,  being,  as  I  am,  opprest 
To  think  that  now  our  life  is  only  drest 
For  show  ;  mean  handy-work  of  craftsman,  cook, 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  215 

Or  groom  ! — We  must  run  glittering  like  a  brook 
In  the  open  sunshine,  or  we  are  unblest : 

The  wealthiest  man  among  us  is  the  best : 
No  grandeur  now  in  nature  or  in  book 
Delights  us." 

The  connection  of  these  two  things  is  what  I 
wish  to  fasten  your  attention  upon — 

"  The  wealthiest  man  among  us  is  the  best," 

that  being  the  spirit  of  society,  then — 

"  No  grandeur  now  in  nature  or  in  book 
Delights  us." 

The  second  illustration  is  in  reference  to  what  is 
called  scandal  or  gossip.  According  to  Words- 
worth, this  is  the  highest  manifestation  of  a 
worldly  spirit.  What  is  it  but  conversations  re- 
specting passing  events  or  passing  acquaintances, 
unappreciated  and  unelevated  by  high  principle  ? 
Wordsworth  has  written  four  sonnets,  worthy  of 
deep  study,  on  this  subject.  After  stating  the 
matter  in  the  first  of  these,  in  the  second  he  sup- 
poses a  possible  defence  against  this  habit  of 
general  conversation  respecting  others,  derisively. 


U    i. 


Yet  life/  you  say,  '  is  life  ;  we  have  seen  and  see 
And  with  a  lively  pleasure  we  describe  ; 
And  fits  of  sprightly  malice  do  but  bribe 

The  languid  mind  into  activity. 

Sound  sense,  and  love  itself,  and  mirth  and  glee, 

Are  fostered  by  the  comment  and  the  gibe.'  " 

22* 


210  LECTURES   AND  ADDRESSES 

Then  comes  Wordsworth's  comment : — 

"  Even  be  it  so  ;  yet  still  among  your  tribe, 

Our  daily  world's  true  worldings,  rank  not  me ! 
Children  are  blest  and  powerful ;  their  world  lies 

More  justly  balanced ;  partly  at  their  feet 
And  part  far  from  them  :  sweetest  melodies 

Are  those  that  are  by  distance  made  more  sweet. 
Whose  mind  is  but  the  mind  of  his  own  eyes, 

He  is  a  slave  ;  the  meanest  we  can  meet ! " 

To  understand  this,  you  must  carry  in  your  recol- 
lection what  Wordsworth's  views  of  childhood 
and  infancy  are,  as  given  in  the  sublime  "  Ode 
to  Immortality."  A  child,  according  to  Words- 
worth, is  a  being  haunted  for  ever  by  eternal 
mind.  He  tells  us  that  "  Heaven  lies  about  us 
in  our  infancy  " — that  the  child  moves  perpetually 
in  two  worlds :  the  world  that  is  seen  right  before 
him,  and  that  terminated  in  another  world — a 
world  invisible,  the  glory  of  which  is  as  from 
a  palace — "  That  imperial  palace  whence  he 
came ; "  and  that  high  philosophy  and  poetry  are 
nothing  but  this  coming  back  to  the  simple  state 
of  childhood,  in  which  we  see  not  merely  the 
thing  before  us,  but  the  thing  before  us  trans- 
figured and  irradiated  by  the  perception  of  that 
higher  life : — 

"  Children  are  blest  and  powerful ;  their  world  lies 

More  justly  balanced ;  partly  at  their  feet, 

And  part  afar  from  them." 


BY   REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  217 

Then  Wordsworth  goes  on  to  show  how  poetry 
supplies  the  place  which  scandal  and  gossip  had 
occupied. 

"  Dreams,  books,  are  each  a  world ;  and  books,  we  know, 
Are  a  substantial  world,  both  pure  and  good  : 
Round  these,  with  tendrils  strong  as  flesh  and  blood, 
Our  pastime  and  our  happiness  will  grow. 

There  find  I  personal  themes,  a  plenteous  store, 
Matter  wherein  right  voluble  I  am, 
To  which  I  listen  with  a  ready  ear ; 
Two  shall  be  named,  preeminently  dear, — 
The  gentle  lady  married  to  the  Moor ; 
And  heavenly  Una  with  her  milk-white  lamb." 

In  other  words,  scandal  is  nothing  more  than 
inverted  love  of  humanity.  An  absolute  neces- 
sity, Wordsworth  tells  us,  exists  within  us  for 
personal  themes  of  conversation  that  have  refer- 
ence to  human  beings,  and  not  to  abstract  princi- 
ples ;  but  when  that  necessity  is  gratified  upon 
the  concerns  and  occupations  of  those  immedi- 
ately around  us,  which  necessarily  become  mixed 
with  envy  and  evil  feelings,  then  that  necessity  is 
inverted  and  perverted.  So  the  place  of  detrac- 
tion or  scandal  is  by  the  poet  occupied  in  per- 
sonal themes  ;  as,  for  example,  when  a  man  has 
made  the  object  of  his  household  thoughts  such 
characters  as  Desdemona  and  Spenser's  Una, 
then  he  has  something  which  may  carry  his  mind 


218  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

to  high  and  true  principles,  beyond  the  present. 
Then  Wordsworth  goes  on  to  say, — 

"  Nor  can  I  not  believe  but  that  hereby 

Great  gains  are  mine  ;  for  thus  I  live  remote 
From  evil  speaking ;  rancour,  never  sought, 
Comes  to  me  not,  malignant  truth,  nor  lie. 
Hence  have  I  genial  seasons,  hence  have  I 

Smooth  passions,  smooth  discourse,  and  joyous  thought : 
And  thus,  from  day  to  day  my  little  boat 
Rocks  in  its  harbour,  lodging  peaceably. 
Blessings  be  with  them — and  eternal  praise, 

Who  gave  us  nobler  loves,  and  nobler  cares — 
The  Poets,  who  on  earth  have  made  us  heirs 
Of  truth  and  pure  delight  by  heavenly  lays." 

I  shall  now  read  you  a  passage  from  a  letter 
written  by  Wordsworth  to  Lady  Beaumont,  in 
which  he  answers  the  objection  that  his  poems 
were  not  popular,  and  explains  the  reason  why  in 
one  sense  his  poetry  never  could  be  popular  with 
the  world  of  fashion. 

"  It  is  impossible  that  any  expectations  can  be 
lower  than  mine  concerning  the  immediate  effect 
of  this  little  work  upon  what  is  called  the  public. 
I  do  not  here  take  into  consideration  the  envy 
and  malevolence,  and  all  the  bad  passions,  which 
always  stand  in  the  way  of  a  work  of  any  merit 
from  a  living  poet ;  but  merely  think  of  the  pure, 
absolute,  honest  ignorance  in  which  all  worldlings 
of  every  rank  and  situation  must  be  enveloped, 


BY   KEV.   F.   W.  ROBERTSON.  219 


with  respect  to  the  thoughts,  feelings,  and  images, 
on  which  the  life  of  my  poems  depends.  The 
things  which  I  have  taken,  whether  from  within 
or  without — what  have  they  to  do  with  routs, 
dinners,  morning  calls,  hurry  from  door  to  door, 
from  street  to  street,  on  foot  or  in  carriage ;  with 
Mr.  Pitt  or  Mr.  Fox,  Mr.  Paul  or  Sir  Francis 
Burdett,  the  Westminster  election  or  the  borough 
of  Honiton  ?  In  a  word — for  I  cannot  stop  to 
make  my  way  through  the  hurry  of  images  that 
present  themselves  to  me — what  have  they  to  do 
with  endless  talking  about  things  nobody  cares 
anything  for,  except  as  far  as  their  own  vanity 
is  concerned,  and  this  with  persons  they  care 
nothing  for,  but  as  their  vanity  or  selfishness  is 
concerned  ?  What  have  they  to  do  (to  say  all  at 
once)  with  a  life  without  love  ?  In  such  a  life 
there  can  be  no  thought ;  for  we  have  no 
thoughts  (save  thoughts  of  pain,)  but  as  far  as 
we  have  love  and  admiration. 

"  It  is  an  awful  truth  that  there  neither  is,  nor 
can  be,  any  genuine  enjoyment  of  poetry  among 
nineteen  out  of  twenty  of  those  persons  who  live, 
or  wish  to  live,  in  the  broad  light  of  the  world — 
among  those  who  either  are,  or  are  striving  to 
make  themselves,  people  of  consideration  in  so- 
ciety. This  is  a  truth,  and  an  awful  one;  be- 
cause to  be  incapable  of  a  feeling  of  poetry,  in 


220  LECTURES   AND  ADDRESSES 

my  sense  of  the  word,  is  to  be  without  love  of 
human  nature  and  reverence  for  God. 

"  Upon  this  I  shall  insist  elsewhere  ;  at  present, 
let  me  confine  myself  to  my  object,  which  is  to 
make  you,  my  dear  friend,  as  easy-hearted  as 
myself  with  respect  to  these  poems.  Trouble 
not  yourself  upon  their  present  reception  :  of 
what  moment  is  that,  compared  with  what  I 
trust  is  their  destiny? — to  console  the  afflicted; 
to  add  sunshine  to  daylight,  by  making  the  happy 
happier :  to  teach  the  young  and  the  gracious  of 
every  age  to  see,  to  think,  and  feel,  and  therefore 
to  become  more  actively  and  securely  virtuous — 
this  is  their  office,  which  I  trust  they  will  faith- 
fully perform,  long  after  we  (that  is,  all  that  is 
mortal  of  us)  are  mouldered  in  our  graves." 

And  then,  after  some  striking  criticisms  and 
analyses  of  his  own  poetry,  he  continues : — 

"  Be  assured  that  the  decision  of  these  persons 
has  nothing  to  do  with  the  question ;  they  are 
altogether  incompetent  judges.  These  people,  in 
the  senseless  hurry  of  their  idle  lives,  do  not  read 
books ;  they  merely  snatch  a  glance  at  them  that 
they  may  talk  about  them.  And  even  if  this 
were  not  so,  never  forget  what,  I  -believe,  was 
observed  to  you  by  Coleridge — that  every  great 
and  original  writer,  in  proportion  as  he  is  great  or 
original,  must  himself  create  the  taste  by  which 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  221 

he  is  to  be  relished ;  he  must  teach  the  art  by 
which  he  is  to  be  seen  ;  this,  in  a  certain  degree, 
even  to  all  persons,  however  wise  and  pure  may- 
be their  lives,  and  however  unvitiated  their  taste. 
But  for  those  who  dip  into  books  in  order  to 
give  an  opinion  of  them,  or  talk  about  them  to 
take  up  an  opinion — for  this  multitude  of  un- 
happy, and  misguided,  and  misguiding  beings, 
an  entire  regeneration  must  be  produced  ;  and  if 
this  be  possible,  it  must  be  a  work  of  time.  To 
conclude,  my  ears  are  stone-dead  to  this  idle 
buzz,  and  my  flesh  as  insensible  as  iron  to  these 
petty  stings ;  and,  after  what  I  have  said,  I  am 
sure  yours  will  be  the  same.  I  doubt  not  that 
you  will  share  with  me  an  invincible  confidence 
that  my  writings  (and  among  them  these  little 
poems)  will  co-operate  with  the  benign  tendencies 
in  human  nature  and  society,  wherever  found ; 
and  that  they  will,  in  their  degree,  be  efficacious 
in  making  men  wiser,  better,  and  happier." 

In  a  subsequent  letter  to  Sir  George  Beau- 
mont, he  says,  "  Let  the  poet  first  consult  his 
own  heart,  as  I  have  done,  and  leave  the  rest  to 
posterity — to,  I  hope,  an  improving  posterity.  .  . 
I  have  not  written  down  to  the  level  of  super- 
ficial observers,  and  unthinking  minds.  Every 
great  poet  is  a  teacher ;  I  wish  either  to  be  con- 
sidered as  a  teacher,  or  nothing." 


222  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

So  far  have  I  tried  to  prove  my  point.  If  my 
allegations  are  true,  then  it  follows  that  a  man 
whose  life  is  choked  up  by  splendour  and  by 
riches — a-  man  whose  sympathies  are  perverted 
by  detraction  and  by  gossip — a  man  whose  ob- 
ject is  in  life  to  have  for  himself  merely  a  po- 
sition in  what  is  called  fashionable  life — such  a 
a  man  is  simply  incapable  of  understanding  the 
highest  poetry. 

The  second  qualification  I  shall  name  for  the 
appreciation  of  poetry  is,  feelings  trained  and 
disciplined  by  the  truth  of  Nature.  Let  us  under- 
stand this  matter.  Poetry  represents  things,  not 
as  they  are,  but  as  they  seem ;  and  herein  it  coin- 
cides with  all  high  art,  for  the  difference  be- 
tween science  and  poetry  is  this — that  science 
and  philosophy  endeavour  to  give  to  us  things  as 
they  are,  art  and  poetry  represent  to  us  things  as 
they  seem.  Let  us  take  a  simple  illustration. 
The  painter  represents  his  distant  mountains 
blue,  he  gives  us  the  distant  circle  in  the  oval 
of  perspective,  not  because  they  are  so,  but  be- 
cause they  seem  so. 

Now,  in  the  same  way,  just  as  there  are  per- 
verted senses  to  which  all  things  seem  unreal, 
and  diseased  or  morbid  senses  to  which,  for  ex- 
ample, there  is  no  difference  between  green  and 
scarlet,  and  as  a  man  who  has  represented  the 


BY   REV.  F.  W.   ROBERTSON.  223 

glaring  and  glittering  as  beautiful,  would  yet  find 
many  who  admired  him,  so,  in  the  same  way,  in 
a  matter  of  taste  or  poetry,  there  will  be  found 
minds  perverted  by  convention,  or  injured  by 
mere  position,  to  whom  Humanity  and  the  Uni- 
verse will  not  appear  in  their  true  colours,  but 
rather  falsely.  Mere  poets  of-  fashion  will  have 
their  admirers,  just  so  far  as  there  are  those 
who  are  found  like  them,  and  just  so  far  as 
their  powers  are  great.  For  it  must  be  remem- 
bered that  if  a  thing  seems  such  to  a  man,  and 
he  has  the  art  of  representing  it  as  it  seems, 
he  is  a  great  poet  in  the  first  instance,  and  if 
a  man  has  that  power  to  an  eminent  degree, 
he  is  a  greater  poet ;  but  the  question  whether 
he  is  a  true  poet  or  not  depends  not  upon  how 
what  he  represented  appeared  to  him,  but  upon 
the  question  whether  it  ought  so  to  have  ap- 
peared to  him,  or  whether  it  does  so  appear 
to  human  nature  in  its  most  unsophisticated 
and  purest  mood.  Then  comes  the  difficulty  ; 
what  shall  be  the  test?  If  things  seem  to  one 
man  thus,  and  if  they  seem  to  another  man 
thus,  who  shall  tell  us  which  is  true  and  which 
is  false  poetry,  and  bring  us  back  to  a  stand- 
ard by  which  we  may  determine  what  is  the 
judgment  of  human  nature  in  its  most  un- 
sophisticated mood?     The  tests  are  two.      The 

23 


224         LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

first  is  feelings  disciplined  by  Nature,  the  sec- 
ond is  feelings  disciplined  through  the  minds 
of  the  acknowledged  great  masters  and  poets. 
The  first  test  I  have  named  is  feelings  disci- 
plined by  Nature ;  for  as  in  matters  of  art,  there 
are  a  variety  of  tastes ;  it  does  not  necessarily 
follow  that  there  is  no  real  test  or  standard 
of  taste. 

And  just  as  the  real  standard  is  not  the  stand- 
ard of  the  mass — is  not  judged  by  the  majority 
of  votes,  but  is  decided  by  the  few — so,  in  matters 
of  poetry,  it  is  not  by  the  mass  or  by  the  majority 
of  votes  that  these  things  can  be  tested ;  but  they 
are  to  be  tested  by  the  pure,  and  simple,  and  true 
in  heart — by  those  who,  all  their  life  long,  have 
been  occupied  in  the  discipline  of  feeling ;  for  in 
early  life  poetry  is  a  love,  a  passion ;  we  care  not 
for  quality,  we  care  only  for  quantity;  the  majesty 
and  pomp  of  diction  delight  us;  we  love  the  mere 
mellifluous  flow  of  the  rhyme  ;  and  this  any  one 
will  understand  who  has  heard  the  boy  in  the 
playground  spouting,  in  schoolboy  phraseology, 
his  sonorous  verses.  And  so,  as  life  goes  on,  this 
passion  passes;  the  love  for  poetry  wanes,  the 
mystic  joy  dies  with  our  childhood,  and  other  and 
more  real  objects  in  life  and  business  occupy  our 
attention.  After  twenty  a  man  no  longer  loves 
poetry  passionately,  and  at  fifty  or  sixty,  if  you 


BY  REV.  F.    W.  ROBERTSON.  225 

apply  to  a  man  for  his  judgment,  you  will  find  it 
to  be  that  which  was  his  when  a  boy.  The  thirty 
years  that  have  intervened  have  been  spent  in  un- 
disciplined feeling,  and  the  taste  of  the  boy  is 
still  that  of  the  man — imperfect  and  undisci- 
plined. 

The  other  test  to  which  I  will  refer  is  the  judg- 
ment of  the  mind  that  has  been  formed  on  the 
highest  models.  The  first  test  I  have  spoken  of 
is,  of  course,  Nature  seen  and  felt  at  first  hand ; 
the  second  test  is  Nature  seen  through  the  eyes 
of  those  who  by  universal  consent  are  reckoned  to 
have  seen  Nature  best ;  and  without  these  it  is 
utterly  impossible  that  a  man  can  judge  well. 

"  These  two  things,  contradictory  as  they  seem, 
must  go  together — manly  dependence  and  manly 
independence,  manly  reliance  and  manly  self-reli- 
ance. Nor  can  there  be  given  to  a  thinking  man 
any  higher  or  wiser  rule  than  this — to  trust  to 
the  judgment  of  those  who  from  all  ages  have 
been  reckoned  great;  and  if  he  finds  that  any 
disparity  or  difference  exists  between  his  judg- 
ment and  theirs,  let  him,  in  all  modesty,  take  it 
for  granted  that  the  fault  lies  in  him  and  not  in 
them ;  for,  as  a  great  poet  interprets  himself  to 
us,  he  is  himself  necessary  to  himself,  and  we 
must  love  him  ere  to  us  he  will  seem  worthy 
of  our  love."     These  lines  are  Wordsworth's,  and 


226  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

of  no  man  are  they  more  true  than  of  himself.  If 
you  come  to  Wordsworth  in  order  to  find  fault, 
and  criticize,  and  discover  passages  that  can  be 
turned  into  ridicule  or  parodied,  you  will  find 
abundant  materials  for  your  mood ;  but  if,  on  the 
other  hand,  in  reliance  on  the  judgment  of  some 
of  the  best  and  wisest  of  this  age,  you  will  take 
it  for  granted  that  there  is  something  there  to 
learn,  and  that  he  can  and  will  teach  you  how  to 
think  and  how  to  feel,  I  answer  for  it  you  will 
not  go  away  disappointed. 

And  here  lies  the  great  difficulty,  the  peculiar 
difficulty  of  our  age  ;  that  it  is  an  age  of  cant 
without  love,  of  criticism  without  reverence.  You 
read  the  magazines,  and  the  quarterlies,  and  the 
daily  newspapers,  you  see  some  slashing  article, 
and  after  you  have  perused  that  article,  in  which 
the  claims  of  some  great  writer  have  been  dis- 
cussed cursorily  and  superficially,  you  take  it  for 
granted  that  you  understand,  and  can  form  a 
judgment  upon  the  matter;  and  yet,  all  the  while, 
very  likely  that  article  has  been  written  by  some 
clever,  flippant  young  man,  to  whom,  for  his  own 
misfortune,  and  for  the  misfortune  of  the  public, 
the  literary  department  has  been  committed. 
What  we  want  is  the  old  spirit  of  our  forefathers ; 
the  firm  conviction  that  not  by  criticism,  but  by 
sympathy,  we  must  understand ;  what  we  want 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  227 

is  more   reverence,   more   love,   more   humanity, 
more  depth. 

The  third  qualification  I  shall  name  for  an 
appreciation  of  poetry  is,  a  certain  delicacy  and 
depth  of  feeling.  I  do  not  say  that  this  is  neces- 
sary for  all  poets, — nay,  even  for  some  of  the 
highest  it  is  not  necessary ;  for  the  epic  poet 
appeals  to  all  minds,  he  describes  things  which 
are  applicable  to  all ;  the  dramatic  poet  appeals 
to  all,  because,  although  unquestionably  some  of 
his  characters  move  in  an  atmosphere  that  is  un- 
intelligible to  the  mass,  yet  in  the  multiplicity  of 
characters  he  produces  there  must  be  a  majority 
that  are  intelligible  to  all;  the  poet  of  passion 
appeals  to  all,  because  passions  are  common  to  us 
all.  It  does  not  require,  for  example,  much  deli- 
cacy or  profoundness  to  understand  and  feel  the 
writings  of  Anacreon  Moore  ;  but  there  are  poets 
who  give  us  truths  which  none  can  appreciate  but 
those  who  have  been  engaged  in  watching  faith- 
fully the  order  in  which  feelings  succeed  each 
other,  the  successions  of  our  inner  life,  the  way  in 
which  things  appear  in  this  world  when  presented 
to  our  mind  in  our  highest  state.  No  man  needs 
this  discipline  and  preparation  more  than  the 
student  of  Wordsworth,  for  he  gives  to  us  the 
subtle  and  pure  and  delicate  and  refined  succes- 
sion of  human   feelings,  of  which  the  mind   is 

23* 


228  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

scarcely  conscious,  except  at  the  moment  when 
the  figure  is  before  us,  and  we  are  listening  with 
stilled  breath  to  the  mysterious  march  of  our 
inner  life. 

I  will  now  proceed  to  give  you  a  few  examples 
of  this  ;  but  you  will  observe  that  I  labour  under 
peculiar  disadvantages  in  doing  so ;  for  just  in 
proportion  as  thoughts  are  delicate,  and  refined, 
and  subtle,  exactly  in  the  same  proportion  are 
they  unfit  for  public  exposition ;  they  may  be 
fitted  for  the  closet,  the  study,  and  for  private 
reading,  but  they  are  not  fitted  for  a  public  room ; 
therefore,  the  most  exquisite  productions  of 
Wordsworth  I  shall  not  bring  before  you  now ; 
all  I  shall  read  to  you  will  be  some  that  will 
give  you  a  conception  of  what  I  have  stated. 
For  example,  I  quote  one  passage  in  which  the 
poet  describes  the  consecrating  effects  of  early 
dawn : — 

"  What  soul  was  his  when  from  the  naked  top 
Of  some  bold  headland  he  beheld  the  sun 
Rise  up  and  bathe  the  world  in  light !     He  look'd — 
Ocean  and  earth,  the  solid  frame  of  earth  - 
And  ocean's  liquid  mass,  beneath  him  lay 
In  gladness  and  deep  joy.     The  clouds  were  touch'd, 
And  in  their  silent  faces  did  he  read 
Unutterable  love.     Sound  needed  none, 
Nor  any  voice  of  joy  ;  his  spirit  drank 
The  spectacle  ;  sensation,  soul,  and  form 


BY  EEV.   F.   W.  ROBERTSON.  229 

All  melted  into  him ;  They  swallowed  up 
His  animal  being  ;  In  them  did  he  live, 
And  by  them  did  he  live ;  They  were  his  life. 
In  such  access  of  mind,  in  such  high  hour 
Of  visitation  from  the  Living  God. 
Thought  was  not ;  in  enjoyment  it  expired  ; 
No  thanks  he  breathed,  he  proffered  no  request ; 
Rapt  into  still  communion  that  transcends 
The  imperfect  offices  of  prayer  and  praise, 
His  mind  was  a  thanksgiving  to  the  Power 
That  made  him ;  it  was  blessedness  and  love  ! " 

There  is  nothing  in  these  lines  except  we  have 
the  heart  to  feel  them.  No  man  can  understand 
or  feel  those  lines  who  has  led  a  slothful  life,  or 
who  has  not  at  one  time  or  other  loved  to  rise 
early, — no  man  who,  in  his  early  walks,  has  not 
mingled  with  a  love  of  poetry  a  deep  religious 
sense,  who  has  not  felt  the  consecrating  effects  of 
early  dawn,  or  who  has  not  at  one  time  or 
another,  in  his  early  days,  in  a  moment  of  deep 
enthusiasm,  knelt  down  amidst  the  glories  of 
Nature,  as  the  ancient  patriarch  knelt,  canopied 
only  by  the  sky  above  him,  and  feeling  that  none 
were  awake  but  the  Creator  and  himself, — bowed 
down  to  consecrate  and  offer  up  the  whole  of  his 
life,  experiencing  also  a  strange,  and  awful,  and 
mysterious  feeling,  as  if  a  Hand  invisible  was 
laid  upon  his  brow,  accepting  the  consecration 
and  the  sacrifice. 


230        LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

In  order  to  understand  the  next  passage  I  shall 
quote,  I  must  remind  you  of  the  way  in  which 
the  ancient  Pagans  represented  the  same  feeling 
Most  persons  here,  either  through  the  originals, 
if  they  are  acquainted  with  them,  or  through  the 
translations,  which  in  these  times  have  multi- 
plied, will  remember  how  the  ancient  Pagan 
poets  loved  to  represent  some  anecdote  of  a 
huntsman  or  shepherd,  who,  in  passing  through 
a  wood  and  plucking  some  herb,  or  cutting  down 
some  branch,  has  started  to  see  drops  of  human 
blood  issue  from  it,  or  at  hearing  a  human  voice 
proclaiming  that  he  had  done  injury  to  some  im- 
prisoned human  life  in  that  tree.  It  was  so  that 
the  ancients  expressed  their  feelings  of  the  deep 
sacredness  of  that  life  that  there  is  in  Nature. 
Now,  let  us  see  how  Wordsworth  expresses  this. 
As  usual,  and  as  we  might  have  expected,  he 
brings  it  before  us  by  a  simple  anecdote  of  his 
childhood,  when  he  went  out  nutting.  He  tells 
us  how,  in  early  boyhood,  he  went  out  to  seek 
for  nuts,  and  came  to  a  hazel-tree  set  far.  in  the 
thicket  of  a  wood,  which  never  had  been  entered 
by  the  profane  steps  of  boyhood  before — as  he 
expresses  it,  "  A  virgin  scene."  He  describes 
how  he  eyed  with  delight  the  clusters  of  white 
nuts  hanging  from  the  branches,  and  with  ex- 
quisite fidelity  to  nature, — he  tells  us  how  he  sat 


BY  REV.  F.  W.  ROBERTSON.  231 

upon  a  bank  and  dallied  with  the  promised  feast, 
as  we  dally  with  a  letter  long  expected,  and  con- 
taining correspondence  much  loved,  because  we 
know  it  is  our  own.  At  last  the  boy  rose,  tore 
down  the  boughs,  and  on  seeing  all  the  ravage 
and  desolation  he  had  caused  by  his  intrusion, 
there  came  over  him  a  feeling  of  deep  remorse. 

"  And  unless  I  now 
Confound  my  present  feelings  with  the  past ; 
Ere  from  the  mutilated  bower  I  turned 
Exulting,  rich  beyond  the  wealth  of  kings, 
I  felt  a  sense  of  pain  when  I  beheld 
The  silent  trees,  and  saw  the  intruding  sky. — 
Then,  dearest  maiden,  move  along  these  shades 
In  gentleness  of  heart ;  with  gentle  hand 
Touch — for  there  is  a  spirit  in  the  wood." 

I  preface  the  third  illustration  that  I  shall  offer, 
by  a  remark  reminding  you  that  these  scenes  of 
Nature  become,  as  it  were,  a  possession  of  the 
memory.  The  value  of  having  felt  Nature  in  her 
loveliness  or  in  her  grandeur  is  not  in  the  pleas- 
ure and  intense  enjoyment  that  was  then  and 
there  experienced,  but  in  this  fact,  that  we  have 
thenceforward  gained  something  that  will  not  be 
put  aside ;  a  remembrance  that  will  form  a  great 
part  of  our  future  life.  Now,  all  of  us, — any 
man  who  has  seen  the  Alps,  or  who  has  seen  an 
American  hurricane,  can   understand  this  so  far 


232  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

as  Nature's  grandeur  is  concerned ;  but  Words- 
worth, as  usual,  shows  us  how  our  daily  life  and 
most  ordinary  being  is  made  up  of  such  recollec- 
tions ;  and,  as  usual,  he  selects  a  very  simple 
anecdote  to  illustrate  this.  It  is  taken  from  a 
circumstance  that  occurred  to  him  when  on  a 
journey  with  his  sister  on  the  lake  of  Ullswater, 
they  came  upon  a  scene  which,  perhaps,  few  but 
himself  would  have  observed.  The  margin  of  the 
lake  was  fringed  for  a  long  distance  with  golden 
daffodils, 

"  Fluttering  and  dancing  in  the  breeze." 

And  then,  after  describing  this  in  very  simple 
language,  these  lines  occur : — 

"  The  waves  beside  them  danced ;  but  they 
Outdid  the  sparkling  waves  in  glee  ; 
A  poet  could  not  but  be  gay, 
In  such  a  jocund  company ; 
I  gazed-T-and  gazed — but  little  thought 
What  wealth  the  show  to  me  had  brought : 

"  For  oft,  when  on  my  couch  I  lie, 
In  vacant  or  in  pensive  mood, 
They  flash  upon  that  inward  eye, 
Which  is  the  bliss  of  solitude ; 
And  then  my  heart  with  pleasure  fills, 
And  dances  with  the  daffodils." 

Now,  I  will  give  you  a  specimen  of  shallow  crit- 


BY  REV.  F.    W.  ROBERTSON.  233 

icism.  In  a  well-known  "  Review  "  for  the  current 
quarter  there  is  a  review  of  Wordsworth  ;  and 
among  other  passages  there  is  one  in  which  the 
reviewer,  with  a  flippancy  which  characterizes  the 
whole  of  the  article,  remarks  that  the  passage 
which  has  just  been  read  is  nothing  more  than  a 
versified  version  of  a  certain  entry  in  Miss  "Words- 
worth's journal.  How  stands  the  fact?  It  is 
unquestionably  true  that  there  was  an  entry  in 
Miss  Wordsworth's  journal,  written  in  very  strik- 
ing prose,  of  the  same  sight  which  her  brother 
and  herself  had  seen;  it  is  quite  true  that  the 
first  two  stanzas  and  the  greater  part  of  the  thud 
were  nothing  more  than  Miss  Wordsworth's  very 
beautiful  prose  put  into  very  beautiful  verse.  So 
far  then,  if  you  strike  off  the  last  stanza  and  the 
two  lines  of  the  stanza  preceding  it,  you  have 
nothing  more  than  a  versified  version  of  the  entry 
in  Miss  Wordsworth's  journal ;  but  then,  the  last 
stanza  contains  the  very  idea  of  all,  towards  which 
all  tended,  and  without  which  the  piece  would 
not  have  been  poetry  at  all.  What  would  you 
think  of  a  man  who  denied  to  Shakspeare  the 
praise  of  originality,  on  the  ground  that  his  plays 
were  chiefly  constructed  from  some  ancient  chron- 
icler, Holingshed,  for  example,  or  taken  from  the 
plot  of  some  old  play,  and  that  in  every  play  he 
had  incorporated  some  hundred  lines  of  the  old 


234  LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES 

play  ?  What  has  Shakspeare  added  ?  Only  the 
genius;  he  has  only  added  the  breath  and  life 
which  made  the  dry  bones  of  the  skeleton  live. 
What  has  Wordsworth  added?  He  has  added 
nothing  except  the  poetry;  nothing  but  the 
thought,  the  one  lovely  thought,  which  redeems 
the  whole. 

Now,  I  have  quoted  the  passages  you  have 
heard,  in  order  to  call  your  attention  to  the  subtle 
perception  and  the  exquisite  delicacy  which  is  in 
them.  I  have  reminded  you  "of  the  difficulty  I 
encounter  in  bringing  them  before  a  public  audi- 
ence. In  reading  Wordsworth  the  sensation  is  as 
the  sensation  of  the  pure  water  drinker,  whose 
palate  is  so  refined  that  he  can  distinguish  between 
rill  and  rill,  river  and  river,  fountain  and  fountain, 
as  compared  with  the  obtuser  sensation  of  him 
who  has  destroyed  the  delicacy  of  his  palate  by 
grosser  libations,  and  who  can  distinguish  no  dif- 
ference between  water  and  water,  because  to  him 
all  pure  things  are  equally  insipid.  It  is  like  lis- 
tening to  the  mysterious  music  in  £he  conch  sea 
shell,  which  is  so  delicate  and  refined  that  we  are 
uncertain  whether  it  is  the  music  and  sound  of  the 
shell,  or  merely  the  pulses  throbbing  in  our  own 
ear;  it  is  like  watching  the  quivering  rays  of 
fleeting  light  that  shoot  up  to  heaven  as  we  are 
looking   at   the   sunset;    so   fine,   so    exquisitely 


BY  KEV.  F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  235 

touching  is  the  sense  of  feeling,  that  we  doubt 
whether  it  is  reality  we  are  gazing  upon  at  all, 
or  whether  it  is  not  merely  an  image  created  by 
the  power  and  the  trembling  of  our  own  inner 
imagination. 

I  will  pass  on,  now,  in  the  second  place,  to  con- 
sider the  life  of  Wordsworth,  so  far  as  it  may  be 
considered  to  have  affected  his  poetry.  We  all 
know  that  Wordsworth  was  remarkable  for  cer- 
tain theories  of  poetry,  which,  in  his  time,  when 
they  first  appeared,  were  considered  new,  hetero- 
dox, heretical.  On  a  future  occasion  I  hope  to 
examine  these ;  at  present,  I  am  bound  to  endeav- 
our to  investigate  the  question,  how  far  Words- 
worth's life  and  Wordsworth's  character  may  be 
supposed  to  have  formed,  or,  at  all  events,  modi- 
fied, these  conclusions. 

Now,  first  of  all,  I  will  remark  that  Words- 
worth's was  a  life  of  contemplation,  not  of  action, 
and  therein  differed  from  Arnold's  of  Rugby. 
Arnold  of  Rugby  is  the  type  of  English  action ; 
Wordsworth  is  the  type  of  English  thought.  If 
you  look  at  the  portraits  of  the  two  men,  you  will 
distinguish  this  difference.  In  one  there  is  con- 
centrativeness,  energy,  proclaimed ;  in  the  eye  of 
the  other  there  is  vacancy,  dreaminess.  The  life 
of  Wordsworth  was  the  life  of  a  recluse.  In 
these  days  it  is  the  fashion  to  talk  of  the  dignity 

24 


236  LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES 

of  work  as  the  one  sole  aim  and  end  of  human 
life,  and  foremost  in  proclaiming  this  as  a  great 
truth  we  find  Thomas  Carlyle.  Every  man  who 
pretends  in  any  degree  to  have  studied  the  mani- 
fold tendencies  of  this  age  will  be  familiar  with 
the  writings  of  Carlyle,  and  there  can  be  no  man 
who  has  studied  them  who  does  not  recollect  the 
vivid  and  eloquent  passage  in  which  Carlyle 
speaks  of  the  sacredness  of  work.  Now,  it  ap- 
pears to  me,  that  this  word  is  passing  almost  into 
cant  among  the  disciples  of  Carlyle ;  and  even 
with  Carlyle  himself  in  these  Latter-day  pam- 
phlets, in  which  "he  speaks  of  every  thing  and 
every  one  not  engaged  in  present  work,  as  if  the 
sooner  they  were  out  of  this  work-a-day  world 
the  better.  In  opposition  to  this,  I  believe  that  as 
the  vocation  of  some  is  naturally  work,  so  the 
vocation,  the  heaven-born  vocation  of  others,  is 
naturally  contemplation. 

In  very  early  times  human  life  was  divided  into 
seven  parts,  whereof  six  were  given  to  work  and 
one  to  rest,  and  both  of  these  were  maintained 
equally  sacred — sacred  work  and  sacred  rest;  and 
it  is  not  uprooting  that  great  principle,  but  carry- 
ing it  out  in  its  spirit,  to  say — that  as  of  the 
seven  parts  of  human  life  the  majority  belonged 
to  work,  so  should  a  fraction  be  dedicated  to  rest ; 
that  though  it  is  true  of  the  majority  that  the  life- 


BY  REV.   F.   W.    ROBERTSON.  237 

law  is  work,  yet  it  is  also  true  that  there  is  a 
fraction  to  whom  by  nature  the  life-law  is  the 
law  of  contemplation.  But  let  no  one  suppose 
that  contemplation,  in  the  Wordsworthian  sense 
of  the  word,  is  listlessness  or  inaction.  There 
is  a  sweat  of  the  brain,  and  a  sweat  of  the  heart, 
be  well  assured  —'working-men  especially — as 
much  as  there  is  a  sweat  of  the  brow ;  and  con- 
templation, in  Wordsworth's  sense  of  the  word, 
is  the  dedicating  a  life  to  the  hard  and  severe 
inner  work  of  brain  ;  it  is  the  retiring  from  the 
world,  in  order  to  fit  the  spirit  to  do  its  work. 

Let  us  understand  what  this  work  was  which 
Wordsworth  proposed  to  himself.  At  the  period 
when  Wordsworth  came  upon  the  stage,  there 
were  two  great  tendencies — and,  in  some  respects, 
evil  tendencies — which  civilization  and  modern 
society  were  beginning  to  develope.  The  first  of 
these  was  the  accumulation  of  wealth  ;  the  sec- 
ond was  the  division  of  labour. 

I  am  not  going  to  speak  of  the  accumulation 
of  wealth  as  a  fanatic.  I  know  some  who  gay 
with  reference  to  wealth  and  capital,  that  wealth 
is  a  necessary  ingredient  in  the  production  of 
things,  of  which  labour  is  the  other  ingredient, 
and  without  which  labour  will  be  altogether 
useless.  I  know  that  no  nation  has  ever  risen 
to  greatness  without  accumulated    capital ;    and 


238  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

yet,  notwithstanding  this,  there  is  a  crisis  in  the 
history  of  nations — and  a  dangerous  crisis  it  is 
— when  the  aristocracy  of  birth  has  been  suc- 
ceeded by  the  aristocracy  of  wealth  ;  and  a  great 
historian  tells  us,  that  no  nation  has  ever  yet 
reached  that  crisis,  without  having  already  be- 
gun its  downward  progress  towards  deterioration. 
There  are  chiefly,  I  believe,  three  influences 
counteractive  of  that  great  danger,  accumulated 
wealth.  The  first  is  religion,  the  second  is  here- 
ditary rank,  and  the  third  is  the  influence  of 
men  of  contemplative  lives.  The  first  is  religion, 
of  which,  as  belonging  to  another  place,  for  the 
sake  of  reverence,  I  will  not  speak  here.  The 
second  counteracting  influence  to  accumulated 
wealth  is  hereditary  rank.  It  is  not  generally 
the  fashion  in  the  present  day  to  speak  highly 
of  rank,  much  less  before  the  members  of  an 
Athenaeum  or  of  a  Working  Man's  Institute ;  it 
is  the  fashion,  rather,  to  speak  of  our  common 
Humanity,  and  to  deprecate  Rank ;  and  good 
and  right  it  is  that  common  Humanity  should 
be  dignified,  and  elevated  far  above  the  distinc- 
tion of  convention  and  all  the  arbitrary  and  arti- 
ficial differences  of  class ;  and  yet,  after  all  this, 
in  an  age  when  it  certainly  is  not  the  fashion  to 
speak  well  of  hereditary  rank,  it  is  well  for  us 
all  to  remember  the  advantages  that  have  accrued 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  239 

to  us  in  the  past,  from  that  hereditary  rank.  I 
will  say  that  Rank  is  a  power  in  itself  more 
spiritual,  because  less  tangible,  than  the  power  of 
wealth.  The  man  who  commands  others  by  the 
extent  of  his  broad  acres,  or  by  the  number  of 
his  bales  of  cotton,  rules  them  by  a  power  more 
degrading  and  more  earthly  than  he  who  rules 
them  simply  by  the  prestige  of  long  hereditary 
claims. 

You  all  remember  how  well  Sir  Walter  Scott 
has  described  this  power  as  existing  more  strongly 
among  the  Highlanders  of  Scotland  than  in  any 
other  nation.  In  the  "  Fair  Maid  of  Perth,"  for 
example,  in  the  contest  between  the  clans,  you 
will  remember  how  every  clansman  dedicated 
himself  to  certain  death  for  the  sake  of  his  chief- 
tain, and  how  a  young  man,  with  no  wealth,  un- 
known before,  nay,  having  in  himself  no  intrinsic 
worth  or  goodness,  obtained  a  loyalty  and  devo- 
tion that  royalty  itself  could  scarcely  win ;  a 
devotion  and  love  that  all  the  wealth  of  the 
burghers  of  Perth  never  could  have  purchased ; 
and  you  feel  that  so  long  as  there  was  such  a 
power  in  Scotland  it  was  impossible  that  the 
burghers  of  Perth,  with  all  their  wealth,  could 
obtain  undisputed  predominancy.  So  long  as 
this  power  exists,  the  power  of  wealth  has  some- 
thing to  be  thrown  in  the  scale  against  it;  and 

24* 


240  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

therefore  it  is  that,  with  feelings  strong  on  the 
side  of  human  progress,  and  with  but  little  rev- 
erence for  mushroom  rank,  I  am  yet  free  to 
acknowledge  that  I  feel  sometimes  a  pang,  when 
I  hear  or  read  of  the  extinction  of  great  names, 
gray  with  the  hoar  of  innumerable  ages — sorrow, 
when  I  read  in  paper  after  paper  of  the  passing 
of  great  ancestral  estates  under  the  hammer  of 
the  auctioneer ;  and  for  this  reason,  that  in  every 
such  case  I  feel  that  there  is  one  more  sword 
gone  that  would  have  helped  us  in  the  battle 
which  we  must  all  fight  against  the  superstitious 
idolatry  of  Wealth. 

The  third  counteracting  influence  is  the  exist- 
ence of  men  of  contemplative  minds — men  of 
science  and  philosophy.  You  may  call  them  use- 
less ;  but  they  are  men  whose  vocation  elevates 
them  above  the  existing  world,  and  makes  them 
indifferent  to  show  and  splendour,  and  therefore 
they  can  throw  their  influence  and  weight  in  the 
scale  against  the  aristocracy  of  wealth.  The 
other  evil  I  have  spoken  of,  I  called  the  division 
of  labour;  and  here,  again,  I  speak  not  as  a 
fanatic.  Political  economists,  Adam  Smith,  for 
example,  tell  us  that  in  the  fabrication  of  a  pin, 
from  ten  to  eighteen  men  are  required.  One 
cuts  the  wire,  another  draws  it,  a  third  points  it, 
three  are  required  to  make  the  head,  another  to 


BY  REV.  F.  W.   ROBERTSON.  241 

polish  it,  and  it  is  a  separate  work  even  to  put 
the  pin  into  the  paper.  And  now,  we  know  the 
advantage  of  all  this. 

The  political  economist  tells  us,  that  ten  such 
men  working  together  can  make  in  a  single  day 
forty  or  fifty  thousand  pins,  whereas,  had  they 
worked  separately,  they  could  scarcely  have  made 
ten.  We  all  know  the  advantage  of  this ;  we 
know  that  a  man  becomes  more  expert  by  direct- 
ing his  whole  attention  to  one  particular  branch 
of  a  trade  than  by  wasting  it  on  many ;  we  know 
that  time  is  thus  saved,  which  would  otherwise 
be  spent  in  going  from  one  work  to  another  ;  we 
know  that  the  inventive  faculty  is  consequently 
quickened,  because  a  man  who  is  for  ever  con- 
sidering one  subject  only,  is  also  enabled  to  oc- 
cupy his  attention  with  the  thought  as  to  how  the 
operation  can  be  most  simplified.  These  are  great 
advantages ;  yet  no  man  can  persuade  me  that 
with  these  advantages  there  are  not  also  great 
disadvantages  to  the  inner  life  of  the  man  so 
engaged.  We  get  a  perfect  pin,  but  we  get  most 
imperfect  men,  for  while  one  man  is  engaged  in 
polishing  the  pin,  and  another  is  engaged  in 
sharpening  it,  what  have  we  ?  We  have  nothing 
more  in  the  man  than  a  pin-polisher  ;  we  have 
sacrificed  the  man  to  the  pin. 

In  some  of  the  States  of  Western  America,  we 


242         LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

are  told  of  men  who,  by  the  very  facts  of  their 
position,  are  compelled  to  clear  their  own  ground, 
to  sow  and  reap  it  with  their  own  hands,  to 
thatch  and  build  their  own  cottages,  and  to  break 
and  shoe  their  own  horses,  and  who  give  a  great 
deal  of  attention,  notwithstanding,  to  the  con- 
sideration of  great  questions,  commercial  and 
political.  This  is,  no  doubt,  an  imperfect  society, 
for  every  thing  is  incomplete ;  and  yet  travel- 
lers tell  us  that  there  are  nowhere  such  speci- 
mens of  Humanity  ;  that  the  men  have  not  only 
large  brains  and  large  muscles,  but  both  these 
joined  together.  On  the  one  hand,  then,  we 
have  a  more  complete  society  and  a  less  complete 
individual;  on  the  other  hand,  we  have  a  more 
complete  individual  and  a  less  complete  society. 
This  is  the  disadvantage,  this  is  the  high  price 
we  must  pay  for  all  civilization  and  progress  ;  in 
the  words  of  Tennyson,  "  The  individual  withers, 
and  the  world  is  more  and  more."  And,  then, 
life  is  so  divided ;  we  have  the  dentist  and  the 
oculist,  but  they  are  only  the  dentist  and  the 
oculist ;  we  have  the  clergyman  and  the  farmer, 
but  the  farmer  knows  nothing  of  the  clergyman  ; 
and  is  it  not  a  charge  brought  against  the  clergy 
at  this  very  moment,  that  they  are  clergymen 
and  nothing  more  ? 

No    man    felt   these   two   dangers    more   than 


BY   REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  243 

Wordsworth  felt  them ;  he  felt  himself  called 
upon  to  do  battle  against  the  evils  of  his  age ;  he 
acknowledged  that  he  had  received  a  commission 
and  consecration  ;  he  was,  as  we  have  already 
heard,  "  a  consecrated  spirit ;  "  and  yet  he  took  a 
fair  and  just  measure  of  his  own  powers;  he 
knew  well  that  his  work  was  not  to  be  done  on 
the  platform,  in  the  pulpit,  or  in  the  senate.  He 
retired  to  his  own  mountains,  and  there,  amidst 
the  regenerating  influences  of  nature,  where  all 
was  real,  he  tried  to  discipline  his  own  heart  in 
order  that  he  might  be  enabled  to  look  calmly 
and  truly  on  the  manifold  aspects  of  human  life. 
And  from  that  solitude  there  came  from  time  to 
time  a  calm  clear  voice,  calling  his  countrymen 
back  to  simplicity  and  truth,  proclaiming  the 
dignity  and  the  simplicity  in  feeling  of  our  prim- 
itive nature ;  in  opposition  to  the  superstitious 
idolatry  of  wealth,  proclaiming  from  time  to  time 
that  a  man's  life  consists  not  in  the  abundance 
of  the  things  he  possesses  ;  in  opposition  to  the 
danger  arising  from  divided  employment  and 
occupations,  proclaiming  the  sanctity  of  each 
separate  human  soul,  and  asserting,  in  defiance 
of  the  manufacturer,  who  called  men  u  hands," 
that  every  man  was  not  a  "  hand,"  but  a  living 
soul. 

It  was  in  this  way  that  Wordsworth  advocated 


244  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

the  truth  of  poetry.  He  did  a  great,  and  high, 
and  holy  work,  the  value  of  which  must  not  be 
calculated  nor  measured  by  his  success,  but  by 
its  truth.  The  work  Wordsworth  did,  and  I  say 
it  in  all  reverence,  was  the  work  which  the 
Baptist  did  when  he  came  to  the  pleasure-laden 
citizens  of  Jerusalem  to  work  a  reformation  j  it 
was  the  work  which  Milton  tried  to  do,  when  he 
raised  that  clear,  calm  voice  of  his  to  call  back 
his  countrymen  to  simpler  manners  and  to 
simpler  laws.  That  was  what  Wordsworth  did, 
or  tried  to  do ;  and  the  language  in  which  he  had 
described  Milton  might  with  great  truth  be  ap- 
plied to  Wordsworth  himself: — 

M  Milton  !  thou  should'st  be  living  at  this  hour : 
England  hath  need  of  thee  :  she  is  a  fen 
Of  stagnant  waters  :  altar,  sword,  and  pen, 
Fireside,  the  heroic  wealth  of  hall  and  bower, 
Have  forfeited  their  ancient  English  dower 
Of  inward  happiness.     We  are  selfish  men  ; 
Oh  !  raise  us  up,  return  to  us  again  ; 
And  give  us  manners,  virtue,  freedom,  power. 
Thy  soul  was  like  a  star,  and  dwelt  apart : 
Thou  hadst  a  voice  whose  sound  was  like  the  sea ; 
Pure  as  the  naked  heavens,  majestic,  free. 
So  didst  thou  travel  on  life's  common  way, 
In  cheerful  godliness  ;  and  yet  thy  heart 
The  lowliest  duties  on  herself  did  lay." 

I  will  now  read  to  you  one  or  two  passages  in 


BY   REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  245 

which  Wordsworth  shows  the  power  of  this  life 
of  contemplation.  The  first  I  shall  read  is  one 
written  by  Wordsworth  soon  after  the  Conven- 
tion of  Cintra.  According  to  Wordsworth's 
view,  England  had  been  guilty  in  that  Con- 
vention of  great  selfishness.  It  appeared  to 
Wordsworth  that,  instead  of  using  the  oppor- 
tunity given  her  to  ransom  Portugal  and  Spain, 
she  had  consulted  her  own  selfishness,  and 
allowed  her  enemy,  the  French,  to  escape  with  a 
retreat  almost  equal  to  victory.  In  consequence 
of  this,  Wordsworth  wrote  a  tract,  in  one  pas- 
sage of  which  he  defended  himself  for  pretending 
to  judge  of  such  matters  : — He  says,  "  The  evi- 
dence to  which  I  have  made  appeal,  in  order  to 
establish  the  truth,  is  not  locked  up  in  cabinets, 
but  is  accessible  to  all ;  as  it  exists  in  the  bosoms 
of  men — in  the  appearances  and  intercourse  of 
daily  life — in  the  details  of  passing  events — and 
in  general  history.  And  more  especially  in  its 
right  import  within  the  reach  of  him  who,  taking 
no  part  in  public  measures,  and  having  no  con- 
cern in  the  changes  of  things  but  as  they  affect 
what  is  most  precious  in  his  country  and  human- 
ity, will  doubtless  be  more  alive  to  those  genuine 
sensations  which  are  the  materials  of  sound  judg- 
ment. Nor  is  it  to  be  overlooked,  that  such  a 
man  may  have  more  leisure  (and  probably  will 


246         LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

have  a  stronger  inclination)  to  communicate  with 
the  records  of  past  ages." 

I  will  take  one  other  passage,  in  which,  judg- 
ing of  the  affairs  of  Spain  with  almost  perfect 
nicety,  "Wordsworth  again  appealed  to  the  power 
and  right  given  to  him,  by  contemplation,  to 
judge  of  such  a  subject : — 

"  Not  raid  the  world's  vain  objects,  that  enslave 
The  free-born  soul — that  world  whose  vaunted  skill 
In  selfish  interest  perverts  the  will, 
Whose  factions  lead  astray  the  wise  and  brave — 
Not  there ;  but  in  dark  wood,  and  rocky  cave, 
And  hollow  vale,  which  foaming  torrents  fill 
With  omnipresent  murmur  as  they  rave 
Down  their  steep  beds,  that  never  shall  be  still : 
Here,  mighty  nature  !  in  this  school  sublime, 
I  weigh  the  hopes  and  fears  of  suffering  Spain, 
For  her  consult  the  auguries  of  time  ; 
And  through  the  human  heart  explore  my  way, 
And  look  and  listen — gathering,  whence  I  may, 
Triumph  and  thoughts  no  bondage  can  restrain." 

The  second  great  feature  in  Wordsworth's  life 
and  history  was  his  fidelity  to  himself.  Early  in 
life  he  felt  himself  a  consecrated  spirit,  bound  to 
be  such,  else  sinning  greatly.  He  said  that  he 
made  no  vows,  but  that,  unknown  to  him,  vows 
were  made  for  him.  Wordsworth  felt  that  he 
had  what  we  call  in  modern  times  a  vocation  or 
a  mission,  and  no  man  was  ever  more  true  to  his 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  247 

vocation  than  Wordsworth ;  he  was  not  disobe- 
dient to  the  heavenly  vision  ;  he  recognized  the 
voice  within  him  and  obeyed  it ;  and  no  wish  for 
popularity,  no  dazzling  invitations  to  a  brighter 
life,  could  ever  make  him  break  his  vows  or  leave 
his  solitude.  The  generosity  of  a  few  private 
friends, — Calvert,  Beaumont,  Lord  Lonsdale, — 
enabled  him  to  live  in  retirement;  but  when  he 
was  afterwards  invited  to  leave  his  seclusion  for 
a  town  life  he  refused,  because  he  felt  that  that 
would  destroy  the  simplicity  he  was  cultivating. 

Wordsworth  was  no  copyist ;  upon  himself 
he  formed  himself.  He  took  no  model ;  he  took 
the  powers  and  light  which  were  in  him,  and 
worked  them  out.  This  will  account  for  what 
some  writers  called  the  fanatical  egotism  of  the 
Lake  writers.  Egotism,  if  you  will ;  but  there 
is  many  a  man  who  is  wasting  his  energies  who 
has,  nevertheless,  the  power  within  him  to  be 
something,  if  he  will  only  not  try  to  be  some- 
thing which  he  cannot  be — if  he  will  only  be 
content  to  be  what  he  is  within  himself,  instead 
of  aiming  at  some  model  it  is  impossible  for  him 
ever  to  realize.  Abstractedly,  no  doubt,  the  ar- 
mour of  the  warrior  was  better  than  the  sling  of 
the  shepherd ;  but  for  the  shepherd  the  shepherd's 
sling  was  best.  And  so  Wordsworth  worked  out 
his  history,  destiny,  and  life ;  and,  after  all,  when 

25 


248  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

you  look  at  it,  in  his  case,  it  was  not  egotism. 
Wordsworth  said  that  he  made  no  vows ;  vows 
were  made  for  him.  And  here  is  the  difference 
between  the  egotist  and  the  humility  of  the  great 
man  ;  the  egotist  is  ever  speaking  and  thinking 
of  that  which  belongs  to  himself  alone  and 
comes  from  himself;  but  the  great  man,  when 
speaking  of  himself,  or  thinking  of  himself,  is 
convinced  that  which  is  in  him  is  not  his  own, 
but  a  Voice  to  which  he  must  listen,  and  to 
which,  at  his  peril,  he  must  yield  obedience. 
There  has  ever  been  to  me  something  exceed- 
ingly sublime  in  the  spectacle  of  Wordsworth, 
through  obloquy,  through  long  years,  through 
contempt,  still  persevering  in  his  calm,  consistent 
course — something  sublime  in  those  expressions 
which  afterwards  turned  out  to  be  a  prophecy,  in 
which,  indifferent  to  present  popularity,  he  looked 
towards  the  future.  His  friends,  who  loved  him, 
his  brothers,  who  adored  him,  were  unsatisfied 
with  the  public  opinion.  "  Make  yourselves  at 
rest  respecting  me,"  said  Wordsworth  ;  "  I  speak 
the  truths  the  world  must  feel  at  last."  There 
are  not  many  passages  in  Wordsworth's  Works 
that  bear  upon  his  feelings  during  this  time,  and 
there  is  only  one  passage  I  will  read  to  you  now 
It  is  that  ode  he  wrote  to  Hay  don  : — 


BY   REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  249 

"  High  is  our  calling-,  friend  ! — Creative  art 
(Whether  the  instrument  of  words  she  use, 
Or  pencil  pregnant  with  ethereal  hues,) 
Demands  the  service  of  a  mind  and  heart, 
Though  sensitive,  yet,  in  their  weakest  part, 
Heroically  fashioned — to  infuse 
Faith  in  the  whispers  of  the  lonely  muse, 
While  the  whole  world  seems  adverse  to  desert. 
And,  oh  !  when  nature  sinks,  as  oft  she  may, 
Through  long-lived  pressure  of  obscure  distress, 
Still  to  be  strenuous  for  the  bright  reward, 
And  in  the  soul  admit  of  no  decay, 
Brook  no  continuance  of  weak-mindedness  : 
Great  is  the  glory,  for  the  strife  is  hard  !  " 

This  brings  me  to  consider  Wordsworth  in  his 
success  as  a  poet.  The  cause  of  Wordsworth, 
which  was  desperate  once,  is  triumphant  now; 
and  yet  it  is  well  to  look  back  to  fifty  years  ago, 
and  to  remember  how  it  was  with  him  then. 
Wordsworth's  biographer  informs  us  that  be- 
tween 1807  and  1815  there  was  not  one  edition 
of  his  works  called  for.  The  different  reviews 
sneered  at  him,  Jeffrey  lashed  him,  Byron  tried 
to  annihilate  him ;  and  it  was  in  reference  to 
some  such  attempt  of  Byron  that  Southey  said, 
"  He  crush  the  Excursion  !  he  might  as  well  at- 
tempt to  crush  Mount  Skiddaw  !  "  It  was  about 
that  time  that  Fox  returned  a  calm,  cold,  un- 
sympathizing  answer  to  the  enclosure  of  a  volume 


250         LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

of  Wordsworth's  poems  which  Wordsworth  had 
sent ;  and  then  also  occurred  one  circumstance 
which  was  full  of  signification.  Cottle,  the  book- 
seller, of  Bristol,  made  over  his  stock  and  effects 
to  the  Messrs.  Longman,  and  it  was  necessary  to 
take  an  inventory  of  the  stock,  and  in  that  in- 
ventory was  found  one  volume  noted  down  as 
worth  "m7."  That  volume  contained  the  lyric 
poems  of  Wordsworth  ;  and  it  may  be  well,  also, 
to  say  that  it  contained  first  of  all  Coleridge's 
poem  of  the  "Ancient  Mariner,"  and  afterwards 
those  exquisite  lines  of  Wordsworth  on  "  Revisit- 
ing Tintern  Abbey." 

Thirty  years  after  this,  the  then  Prime  Minister 
of  England,  Sir  Robert  Peel,  in  a  letter  full  of 
dignified,  and  touching,  and  graceful  feeling,  prof- 
fered to  Wordsworth  the  Laureateship  of  Eng- 
land ;  acknowledging,  in  addition,  that  though 
he  had  mentioned  the  subject  not  to  few,  but 
to  many  persons,  and  not  to  men  of  small,  but 
to  men  of  great  reputation,  there  was  but  one 
unanimous  opinion,  that  the  selection  was  the 
only  one  that  could  be  made. 

I  remember  myself  one  of  the  most  public  ex- 
hibitions of  this  change  in  public  feeling.  It  was 
my  lot,  during  a  short  university  career,  to  wit- 
ness a  transition  and  a  reaction,  or  revulsion,  of 
public  feeling,  with   respect  to   two   great   men 


BY  REV.   F.   W.  ROBERTSON.  251 

whom  I  have  already  mentioned  and  contrasted. 
The  first  of  these  was  one  who  was  every  inch  a 
man — Arnold  of  Rugby.  You  will  all  recollect 
how  in  his  earlier  life  Arnold  was  covered  with 
suspicion  and  obloquy ;  how  the  wise  men  of  his 
day  charged  him  with  latitudinarianism,  and  I 
know  not  with  how  many  other  heresies.  But  the 
public  opinion  altered,  and  he  came  to  Oxford 
and  read  lectures  on  Modern  History.  Such  a 
scene  had  not  been  seen  in  Oxford  before.  The 
lecture-room  was  too  small ;  all  adjourned  to  the 
Oxford  theatre ;  and  all  that  was  most  brilliant, 
all  that  was  most  wise  and  most  distinguished, 
gathered  together  there.  He  walked  up  to  the 
rostrum  with  a  quiet  step  and  manly  dignity. 
Those  who  had  loved  him  when  all  the  world 
despised  him,  felt  that,  at  last,  the  hour  of  their 
triumph  had  come.  But  there  was  something 
deeper  than  any  personal  triumph  they  could 
enjoy ;  and  those  who  saw  him  then  will  not 
soon  forget  the  lesson  read  to  them  by  his  calm, 
dignified,  simple  step, — a  lesson  teaching  them 
the  utter  worthless ness  of  unpopularity,  or  of 
popularity,  as  a  test  of  manhood's  worth. 

The  second  occasion  was  when,  in  the  same 
theatre,  Wordsworth  came  forward  to  receive  his 
honorary  degree.  Scarcely  had  his  name  been 
pronounced,  than  from  three  thousand  voices  at 

25* 


252         LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

once,  there  broke  forth  a  burst  of  applause,  echoed 
and  taken  up  again  and  again  when  it  seemed 
about  to  die  away,  and  that  thrice  repeated — a 
cry  in  which 

"  Old  England's  heart  and  voice  unite, 
Whether  she  hail  the  wine  cup  or  the  fight, 
Or  bid  each  hand  be  strong,  or  bid  each  heart  be  light." 

There  were  young  eyes  there,  filled  with  an 
emotion  of  which  they  had  no  need  to  be 
ashamed ;  there  were  hearts  beating  with  the 
proud  feeling  of  triumph,  that,  at  last,  the  world 
had  recognized  the  merit  of  the  man  they  had 
loved  so  long,  and  acknowledged  as  their  teacher ; 
and  yet,  when  that  noise  was  protracted,  there 
came  a  reaction  in  their  feelings,  and  they  began 
to  perceive  that  that  was  not,  after  all,  the  true 
reward  and  recompense  for  all  that  Wordsworth 
had  done  for  England  ;  it  seemed  as  if  all  that 
noise  was  vulgarizing  the  poet ;  it  seemed  more 
natural  and  desirable,  to  think  of  him  afar  off  in 
his  simple  dales  and  mountains,  the  high  priest 
of  Nature,  weaving  in  honoured  poverty  his  songs 
to  liberty  and  truth,  than  to  see  him  there  clad 
in  a  scarlet  robe  and  bespattered  with  applause. 
Two  young  men  went  home  together,  part  of  the 
way  in  silence,  and  one  only  gave  expression  to 
the  feelings  of  the  other  when  he  quoted  those 


BY  REV.   F.  W.  ROBERTSON.  253 

well-known,  trite,  and  often-quoted  lines, — lines 
full  of  deepest  truth — 

"  The  self-approving  hour  whole  worlds  outweighs 
Of  stupid  starers  and  of  loud  huzzas  ; 
And  more  true  joy  Marcellus  exiled  feels 
Than  Caesar  with  a  senate  at  his  heels." 

The  last  thing  I  shall  remark  on  respecting 
Wordsworth's  life  was  Wordsworth's  consist- 
ency. I  shall  here  quote  a  passage  in  which  he 
alludes  to  the  charge  brought  against  him  of 
having  deserted  his  former  opinions.  "  I  should 
think  that  I  had  lived  to  little  purpose  if  my 
notions  on  the  subject  of  government  had  under- 
gone no  modification  :  my  youth  must,  in  that 
case,  have  been  without  enthusiasm,  and  my 
manhood  endued  with  small  capability  of  profit- 
ing by  reflection.  If  I  were  addressing  those  who 
have  dealt  so  liberally  with  the  words  renegade, 
apostate,  &c.  I  should  retort  the  charge  upon 
them,  and  say,  you  have  been  deluded  by  places 
and  persons,  while  I  have  stuck  to  principles." 
It  may  appear  to  many  persons  a  desperate  thing 
to  defend  Wordsworth's  consistency  in  the  very 
teeth  of  facts  ;  for  it  is  unquestionable  that  in  his 
early  life  Wordsworth  was  a  Republican,  and 
sympathized  with  the  French  Revolution,  and 
that  in  his  later  life  he  wrote  lines  of  stern  con- 


254  LECTURES    AND   ADDRESSES 

demnation  for  its  excesses.  It  is  unquestionable, 
moreover,  that  in  early  life  Wordsworth  rebelled 
against  any  thing  like  ecclesiastical  discipline ; 
that  he  could  not  even  bear  the  morning  and 
evening  prayers  at  chapel,  and  yet  that  in  later 
life  he  wrote  a  large  number  of  Ecclesiastical 
sonnets,  of  which  I  will  at  present  only  quote  one 
on  Archbishop  Laud — 

"  Prejudged  by  foes  determined  not  to  spare 
An  old  weak  man  for  vengeance  thrown  aside, 
Laud,  '  in  the  painful  art  of  dying '  tried, 
(Like  a  poor  bird  entangled  in  a  snare, 
Whose  heart  still  flutters,  though  his  wings  forbear 
To  stir  in  useless  struggle,)  hath  relied 
On  hope  that  conscious  innocence  supplied, 
And  in  his  prison  breathes  celestial  air. 
Why  tarries  then  thy  chariot  ?  wherefore  stay, 
O  Death  !  the  ensanguined  yet  triumphant  wheels, 
Which  thou  preparest,  full  often  to  convey 
(What  time  a  state  with  maddening  faction  reels) 
The  saint  or  patriot  to  the  world  that  heals 
All  wounds,  all  perturbations  doth  allay."  * 

*  Wordsworth  appended  to  this  sonnet  the  following  note, 
which  is  given  entire  to  show  the  strength  of  his  opinion  on 
this  subject: — 

"  In  this  age  a  word  cannot  be  said  in  praise  of  Laud,  or 
even  in  compassion  for  his  fate,  without  incurring  a  charge  of 
bigotry  ;  but  fearless  of  such  imputation,  I  concur  with  Hume, 
'  that  it  is  sufficient  for  his  vindication  to  observe  that  his 
errors  were  the  most  excusable  of  all  those  which  prevailed 


BY  REV.  F.   W.  ROBERTSON.  255 

So  that  Wordsworth  began  as  a  Republican  and 
ended  as  a  Tory ;  he  began  in  defiance  of  every- 
thing ecclesiastical,  and  ended  as  a  High  Church- 
man. This  change  has  been  viewed  by  persons 
of  different  parties  with  different  sentiments.  To 
some,  as  to  the  poet  Shelley,  it  appeared  an 
apostasy  from  the  purity  of  his  earlier  principles  ; 
to  others,  as  if  the  sacredness  of  his  earlier  prin- 
ciples had  been  ripened  with  the  mellowed 
strength  of  manly  life.  Among  these  last  is  his 
biographer,  Dr.  Wordsworth ;  and  it  is  curious  to 
see  what  pains  he  has  taken  to  point  to  some 
passage  by  which  the  evil  of  another  might  be 
modified — aiming  at  one  great  and  chief  object, 
namely,  to  prove  that  Wordsworth  died  a  Tory 

during  that  zealous  period.'  A  key  to  the  right  understanding 
of  those  parts  of  his  conduct  that  brought  the  most  odium  upon 
him  in  his  own  time,  may  be  found  in  the  following  passage 
of  his  speech  before  the  bar  of  the  House  of  Peers :  '  Ever 
since  I  came  in  place,  I  have  laboured  nothing  more  than  that 
the  external  publick  worship  of  God,  so  much  slighted  in 
divers  parts  of  this  kingdom,  might  be  preserved,  and  that 
with  as  much  decency  and  uniformity  as  might  be.  For  I 
evidently  saw,  that  the  publick  neglect  of  God's  service  in  the 
outward  face  of  it,  and  the  nasty  lying  of  many  places  dedi- 
cated to  that  service,  had  almost  cast  a  damp  upon  the  true 
and  inward  worship  of  God,  which,  while  ive  live  in  the  body, 
needs  external  helps,  and  all  little  enough  to  keep  it  in  any 
vigour.' " 


256  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

and  a  High  Churchman.  Be  it  so ;  I  am  pre- 
pared to  say  that  the  inner  life  of  Wordsworth 
was  consistent.  In  order  to  prove  this,  let  us 
bear  in  mind  that  there  are  two  kinds  of  truth — 
the  one  is  the  truth  of  fact,  the  other  is  ideal 
truth ;  and  these  are  not  one,  they  are  often 
opposite  to  each  other.  For  example,  when  the 
agriculturist  sees  a  small  white  almond-like  thing 
rising  from  the  ground,  he  calls  that  an  oak ;  but 
that  is  not  a  truth  of  fact,  it  is  an  ideal  truth. 
The  oak  is  a  large  tree,  with  spreading  branches, 
and  leaves,  and  acorns  ;  but  that  is  only  a  thing 
an  inch  long,  and  imperceptible  in  all  its  develop- 
ment ;  yet  the  agriculturist  sees  in  it  the  idea  of 
what  it  shall  be,  and,  if  I  may  borrow  a  scriptural 
phrase,  he  imputes  to  it  the  majesty,  and  excel- 
lence, and  glory,  that  is  to  be  hereafter. 

Let  us  carry  this  principle  into  the  change  of 
Wordsworth's  principles.  In  early  life  Words- 
worth was  a  democrat ;  an  admirer  of  the  French 
Revolution ;  he  sympathized  deeply,  manfully, 
with  the  cause  of  the  poor  ;  he  loved  them,  and 
desired  their  elevation.  But  he  sympathized  with 
them  as  the  stately  nobles  of  nature ;  he  saw  in 
them,  not  what  they  were,  but  what  they  might 
be ;  and  in  all  Wordsworth's  peddlers,  and  broom- 
gatherers,  and  gypsies,  and  wanderers,  we  have 
not   bad   men,  denied  by  crime ;    but    there   is, 


BY   REV.   F.    W.   ROBERTSON.  257 

speaking  though  them  all,  the  high,  pure  mind 
of  Wordsworth.  He  simply  exhibited  his  own 
humanity,  which  he  felt  and  knew  to  be  in 
them  also.  This  is  an  ideal  truth  and  not  a 
truth  of  fact,  and  the  idea  is  not  what  they 
were,  but  what  they  ought  to  be,  and  what  they 
yet  should  be. 

Let  us,  again,  on  the  other  hand,  come  to 
the  question  of  Wordsworth's  change  into  High 
Churchism  and  Toryism.  And  first,  by  the  way, 
I  would  remark  that  there  is  another  side  of  the 
truth  Wordsworth  put  forward,  which  you  will 
find  in  a  poem  familiar  to  most  of  you,  in  which 
Canning  has  given  us  the  history  of  the  "  Needy 
Knife  Grinder."  A  republican,  in  all  the  warmth 
of  republican  spirit,  with  his  lips  full  of  liberty, 
fraternity,  and  equality,  sees  approaching,  a  man 
in  rags — a  poor  wretched  looking  being ;  and  he 
instantly  imagines  that  here  is  some  victim  to  the 
oppression  of  the  Poor  Laws,  the  Game  Laws, 
or  of  Tithes,  or  Taxation  ;  but  it  turns  out,  upon 
inquiry,  that  he  has  before  him  a  man  of  bad 
life,  of  indolent  and  intemperate  habits,  who,  in 
a  fit  of  intoxication,  has  got  into  the  wretched 
state  in  which  he  beholds  him  ;  and  the  indig- 
nation and  confusion  of  our  good  republican 
are  completed  when  the  Needy  Knife  Grinder 
entreats  that  he  would  give  him  some  small  coin, 


258  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

in  order  that  he  might  become  drunk  again. 
This  is  the  other  side  of  truth — the  truth  of  fact 
— a  low,  and  base,  and  vulgar  truth.  And,  after 
all,  when  we  come  to  examine  these,  which  is 
the  higher  truth  ? — is  it  higher  to  state  things  as 
they  really  are,  or  to  state  them  as  they  ought  to 
be  ? — to  say  that  the  lower  classes  are  degraded, 
and  evil,  and  base ;  or  to  say  that  there  yet  slum- 
bers in  them  the  aristocratic  and  the  godlike, 
and  that  that,  by  the  grace  of  God,  shall  one  day 
be  drawn  forth?  In  early  life,  then,  in  all  his 
most  democratic  feelings,  Wordsworth  was  an 
aristocrat  at  heart. 

And  now  we  come  to  the  other  side  of  the 
question.  And  first,  in  reference  to  the  term 
"  High  Churchism,"  I  do  not  use  it  in  an  offen- 
sive sense.  If  there  are  any  persons  here  holding 
High  Church  views,  I  implore  them  to  believe 
that,  although  I  am  not  a  High  Churchman  my- 
self—  far  from  it — I  can  yet  sympathize  with 
them  in  all  their  manliness  and  high-mindedness ; 
and  recognize  much  in  them  that  is  pure  and 
aspiring.  If,  therefore,  I  now  give  my  own  de- 
finition of  High  Churchism,  let  them  not  be  of- 
fended. There  are,  then,  two  things  opposite  to 
each  other ;  the  one  is  Pantheism,  the  other  is 
High  Churchism.  Pantheism  is  a  tendency  to 
see   the    godlike   everywhere,  the   personal   God 


BY   REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  259 

nowhere.  The  other,  is  the  tendency  to  localize 
the  personal  Deity  in  certain  places,  certain  times, 
and  certain  acts ;  certain  places  called  conse- 
crated churches ;  certain  times  called  fast-days, 
and  so  forth  ;  certain  acts,  called  acts  of  ecclesi- 
astical life,  in  certain  persons,  called  consecrated 
priests.  These  two  things,  you  will  observe,  are 
opposed  to  each  other — diametrically  opposed. 
Now,  it  is  a  strange  and  remarkable  fact,  that 
Wordsworth  has  been  charged  with  both  these 
things  ;  by  some  he  has  been  charged  with  Pan- 
theism, and  by  others  with  what  we  call  High 
Churchism.  In  reference  to  Pantheism,  in  order 
that  those  who  are  not  familiar  with  the  word 
may  understand  it,  I  will  quote  one  or  two  pas- 
sages from  Wordsworth.  The  first,  which  occurs 
in  the  sonnets,  I  have  read.  In  that  it  will  be 
seen  that  Wordsworth  speaks  of  the  force  of 
Nature  as  if  that  were  the  only  living  Soul  of 
the  world.  I  will  take  another  passage  which 
occurs  in  the  well-known  lines  on  Revisiting 
Tintern  Abbey  : — 

"And  I  have  felt 
A  presence  that  disturbs  me  with  the  joy 
Of  elevated  thoughts  ;  a  sense  sublime 
Of  something  far  more  deeply  interfused, 
Whose  dwelling  is  the  light  of  setting  suns, 
And  the  round  ocean,  and  the  living  air, 

26 


260         LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

And  the  blue  sky,  and  in  the  mind  of  man : 
A  Motion  and  a  Spirit,  that  impels 
All  thinking  things,  all  objects  of  all  thought, 
And  rolls  through  all  things." 

In  these  words,  grand  and  magnificent  as  they 
are,  we  have  the  very  germ  of  Pantheism.  But 
now,  in  looking  at  one  of  these  classes  of  pas- 
sages, we  must  ever  remember  to  modify  it  by 
the  other.  When  Wordsworth  spoke  as  a  High 
Churchman,  we  must  remember  that  he  was  the 
very  same  man  who  spoke  of  the  Living  Being 
that  created  the  universe,  as  "A  Motion  and  a 
Spirit  that  impels  all  thinking  things;"  and  when, 
on  the  other  hand,  I  use  language  which  seems 
to  pass  almost  into  Pantheism,  we  must  remem- 
ber that  he  was  the  same  man  who  wrote  the 
Ecclesiastical  sonnets,  and  who  spoke  of  a  per- 
sonal and  localized  Deity. 

And  what  if  it  be  true, — and  true  it  is, — that 
the  earlier  part  of  Wordsworth's  life  was  charac- 
terized by  the  predominancy  of  one  of  these 
feelings,  and  the  later  part  by  the  other — is  there 
any  thing  there  that  is  unnatural  or  inconsistent  ? 
Is  it  unnatural  if  the  mind  of  a  man  progresses 
from  the  vague  transcendental  down  towards  the 
personal  ?  Is  there  any  thing  inconsistent  in  the 
great  truth,  that  the  mind  of  man,  after  having 
wandered  in  the  outer   confines  of   the    circum- 


BY   REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  261 

ference  of  this  universe,  should  at  last  seek  its 
home  and  find  its  blessedness  in  the  rest  of  a 
personal  centre  ?  Now,  with  respect  to  the  other 
point,  namely,  Wordsworth's  Toryism,  or  Con- 
servatism—  call  it  what  you  will;  it  does  not 
matter  whether  I  am  now  addressing  Tories  or 
Radicals ;  since  we  are  speaking  of  great  prin- 
ciples we  will  have  done  with  names.  I  will  read 
you  a  passage  in  which  Wordsworth  speaks  of 
England  :-^. 

"  Hail  to  the  crown  by  freedom  shaped — to  gird 
An  English  sovereign's  brow  !  and  to  the  throne 
Whereon  he  sits.     Whose  deep  foundations  lie 
In  veneration  and  the  people's  love ; 
Whose  steps  are  equity,  whose  seal  is  law." 

Now,  the  veriest  democrat  can  only  object  to 
this  as  a  matter  of  fact,  and  will  probably  say, 
"  If  this  be  England  I  would  desire  to  preserve 
her  as  she  is ;  but  because  I  do  not  believe  it, 
I  desire  to  alter  her ;  in  heart  and  in  idea  we 
are  one,  the  only  point  on  which  we  differ  is 
the  point  of  historical  fact."  I  say,  therefore,  that 
in  Wordsworth's  most  democratic  days  he  was 
aristocratic  in  heart ;  and  in  his  most  aristocratic 
days  he  had  all  that  was  most  generous,  and  all 
that  was  most  aspiring  in  the  democratic  mind. 
I  now  come  rapidly  towards  the  conclusion  ;  but 


2G2         LECTUEES  AND  ADDRESSES 

having  said  what  I  have,  it  is  necessary  that  I 
should  complete  the  picture  by  giving  you  an 
idea  of  the  patriotism  in  Wordsworth  ;  that  in- 
tense and  deep  love  for  England,  in  which  aristo- 
crat and  democrat  are  blended  in  the  formation 
of  one  high-minded  man.  I  will  read  a  passage 
showing  Wordsworth's  love  for  his  country  : — 

"  When  I  have  borne  in  memory  what  has  tamed 

Great  nations,  how  ennobling  thoughts  depart 

When  men  change  swords  for  legers,  and  desert 
The  student's  bower  for  gold,  some  fears  unnamed 
I  had,  my  country ! — am  I  to  be  blamed, 

Now,  when  I  think  of  thee,  and  what  thou  art, 

Verily  in  the  bottom  of  my  heart, 
Of  those  unfilial  fears  I  am  ashamed. 

For  dearly  must  we  prize  thee  ;  we  who  find 
In  thee  a  bulwark  for  the  cause  of  men  ; 

And  I  by  my  affection  was  beguiled  : 
What  wonder  if  a  poet  now  and  then, 

Among  the  many  movements  of  his  mind, 
Felt  for  thee  as  a  lover  or  a  child  ?  " 

I  must  preface  the  next  sonnet  I  have  to  read, 
by  reminding  you,  that  it  was  written  at  a  period 
when  a  French  invasion  was  expected.  It  is  a 
very  hard  and  difficult  thing  for  us  in  the  present 
day,  broken  as  we  are  into  so  many  factions,  to 
conceive  the  united  enthusiasm  which  stirred  the 
heart  of  England  in  those  days,  when  every 
moment  the  invasion  of  the  great  conqueror  of 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  263 

Europe  was  possible.  The  fleets  of  England 
swept  the  seas  ;  on  every  hill  the  signal  beacons 
blazed ;  420,000  men  were  in  arms  ;  the  service 
of  the  church  was  liable  to  be  interrupted  by  the 
clang  of  arms  upon  the  pavement ;  every  village 
churchyard  was  converted  into  a  parade-ground ; 
every  boy  felt  as  if  there  were  strength,  even  in 
his  puny  arm,  to  strike  a  blow  in  defence  of  the 
cause  of  his  country  ;  every  man,  excepting  when 
he  thought  of  the  women  of  his  country,  was  long- 
ing for  the  time  to  come,  when  it  should  be  seen 
with  what  a  strength,  with  what  a  majesty  a  sol- 
dier fought,  when  he  was  fighting  in  the  magnifi- 
cent and  awful  cause  of  his  altar  and  his  hearth. 
The  moment  was  like  that  of  the  deep  silence 
which  precedes  a  thunder-storm,  when  every 
breath  is  hushed,  and  every  separate  dried  leaf, 
as  it  falls  through  the  boughs,  is  heard  tinkling, 
tinkling  down  through  the  branches,  from  branch 
to  branch;  when  men's  breath  was  held;  when 
men's  blood  beat  thick  in  their  hearts,  as  if  they 
were  waiting  in  solemn  and  grand,  but  not  in 
painful — rather  in  triumphant — expectation  for 
the  moment  when  the  storm  should  break,  and 
the  French  cry  of  "  Glory"  should  be  thundered 
back  again  by  England's  sublimer  battle-cry  of 
"  Duty !  "  It  was  at  this  time  that  Wordsworth's 
sonnet  appeared : — 

26* 


264  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

"  It  is  not  to  be  thought  of  that  the  flood 
Of  British  freedom,  which  to  the  open  sea 
Of  the  world's  praise,  from  dark  antiquity- 
Hath  flowed,  with  '  pomp  of  waters  unwithstood,' 
Roused  though  it  be  full  often  to  a  mood 
Which  spurns  the  check  of  salutary  bands, 
That  this  most  famous  stream  in  bogs  and  sands 
Should  perish !  and  to  evil  and  to  good 
Be  lost  for  ever.    In  our  halls  is  hung 
Armoury  of  the  invincible  Knights  of  old : 
We  must  be  free  or  die,  who  speak  the  tongue 
That  Shakspeare  spake ;  the  faith  and  morals  hold 
Which  Milton  held.     In  every  thing  we  are  sprung 
Of  earth's  first  blood,  have  titles  manifold.'* 

In  the  next  passage  I  have  to  bring  before  you, 
I  will  remind  you  of  some  other  facts.  The 
sonnet  is  addressed  to  the  men  of  Kent.  Now, 
there  is  a  difference  between  the  Kentish  men 
and  the  men  of  Kent.  The  Kentish  men  are 
simply  the  inhabitants  of  the  county  of  Kent. 
The  "  Men  of  Kent "  is  a  technical  expression 
applied  to  the  inhabitants  of  that  part  of  Kent 
who  were  never  subdued  in  the  Norman  invasion, 
and  who  obtained  glorious  terms  for  themselves, 
on  capitulation,  receiving  the  confirmation  of 
their  own  charters  ;  so  that  until  very  recently — 
if  not  at  present — they  were  still  in  possession 
of  the  custom  called  Gavelkind,  by  which  the 
sons  inherited,  not  unequally,  the   eldest  taking 


BY  REV.  F.  W.  ROBERTSON.  265 

precedence,  but  they  all  taking  share  and  share 
alike.  It  was  to  the  "  Men  of  Kent,"  the  inhabi- 
tants of  that  part  of  the  county  nearest  to  the 
neighbouring  land  of  France,  that  Wordsworth 
addressed  this  sonnet : — 

"  Vanguard  of  Liberty,  ye  Men  of  Kent, 
Ye  children  of  a  soil  that  doth  advance 
Her  haughty  brow  against  the  coast  of  France, 
Now  is  the  time  to  prove  your  hardiment ! 
"to  France  be  words  of  invitation  sent ! 
They  from  their  fields  can  see  the  countenance 
Of  your  fierce  war,  may  ken  the  glittering  lance, 
And  hear  you  shouting  forth  your  brave  intent. 
Left  single,  in  bold  parley,  ye,  of  yore, 
Did  from  the  Norman  win  a  gallant  wreath  ; 
Confirmed  the  charters  that  were  yours  before  ; — 
No  parleying  now  !     In  Britain  is  one  breath, 
We  all  are  with  you  now  from  shore  to  shore  : — 
Ye  men  of  Kent,  'tis  victory  or  death ! " 

In  this  age  of  cosmopolitanism,  when  we  are, 
forsooth,  too  much  philanthropists  to  be  patriots  ; 
when  any  deep  and  strong  emotion  of  love  to  our 
country  is  reckoned  as  nothing  more  than  the 
sacredness  of  the  schoolboy's  affection  ;  when  our 
young  people  who  have  travelled  can  find  no 
words  more  capable  of  expressing  their  contempt 
than  these — "  It  is  so  English  ; "  it  does  the  heart 
good  to  read  these  firm  and  pure,  and  true  and 
manly  words,  issuing  from  the  lips  of  one  who 


26G   LECTURES,  &o.  BY  EEV.  F.  W.  ROBERTSON. 

was  not  ashamed  to  love  his  country  with  all  his 
heart,  and  with  all  his  soul,  and  with  all  his 
mind,  and  wdth  all  his  strength ;  a  man  whose 
every  word,  and  every  thought,  and  every  act, 
were  the  words,  and  thoughts,  and  acts,  of  a 
manly,  true-spirited,  high-minded  Englishman ! 


NOTES   OF   A   LECTURE, 

&C,    &C. 


NOTES   OF   A  LECTURE 

Delivered  at  Hurstper-point,  in  1851,  to  the  Mem- 
bers of  a  Working-  Maris  Reading  Room. 

I  am  here  to-night  through  the  invitation  of 
your  kind  friends,  with  no  right  but  that  of  un- 
feigned interest  in  every  institution  like  yours. 

The  subject  I  had  proposed  was  the  Progress 
of  Society.  I  changed  it  for  that  of  the  Work- 
ing Classes.  But  even  this  is  too  full  of  pre- 
tension. 

Nevertheless,  the  mere  fact  of  my  standing 
here  to-night  is  full  of  significance. 

More  so  than  railways  or  electric  telegraphs. 

That  so  many  of  the  Working  Classes  should 
come  here  after  a  hard  day's  work  is  very  sig- 
nificant. 

It  proves  the  growing  victory  of  the  spirit  over 
the  animal:  That  the  lower  life  of  toil  and 
animal  indulgence  is  getting  to  be  reckoned  as 
not  the  all  of  man. 


270        LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

It  shows,  too,  that  the  Working  Classes  are 
becoming  conscious  of  their  own  destinies. 

Any  Society  is  in  an  advanced  state  when  it 
begins  to  contemplate  itself,  and  asks,  "  Whither 
do  we  tend  ?  " 

Three  thousand  years  ago,  the  centre  of  the 
World's  civilization  was  in  Eastern  Africa. 

The  monuments  of  this  civilization  still  re- 
main.    The  Pyramids. They  are  the  wonder 

of  travellers,  whose  report  of  their  measure- 
ments excites,  in  turn,  our  astonishment  and 
surprise. 

But  to  one  considering  the  progress  of  the  race, 
these  Pyramids  tell  a  different  tale.  They  were 
built  by  the  Working  Classes,  under  coercion. 
They  were  built  for  Royal  ostentation. 

Herodotus  speaks  of  hundreds  of  thousands 
degraded  into  serfs. 

In  the  Metropolis  of  the  World's  present  civ- 
ilization, a  structure  stood  this  year  almost  as 
marvellous  as  these  pyramids. 

Remarkable  not  for  gigantic  massiveness. 
But  for  punctuality  and  order. 

Built,  too,  under  Royal  auspices,  and  built  by 
the  Labouring  Classes. 

But  not  built,  like  the  pyramids,  for  Royal 
splendour.  It  was  built  for  the  exhibition  of  the 
works  of  Labouring  Men. 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  271 

You  could  not  go  through  that  building  with- 
out feeling  that  Royalty  itself  was  second  there, 
not  first. 

One  feeling  I  had  was — There  is  nothing  here 
that  I  can  make.  I  belong  to  the  non-producing 
classes. 

New  era. The  dignity  of  Labour. The 

sinking  of  the  Individual  in  the  Society. 

Another  truth  typified  by  that  bearing  on  the 
destinies  of  the  Working  Classes.  The  approach 
of  an  age  of  Peace. Falaise. Guizot. 

Assume,  then,  the  fact  of  the  growing  impor- 
tance of  the  Working  Classes. 

There  are  two  ways  of  treating  this  fact,  just 
as  there  are  two  ways  of  treating  an  heir  just 
entering  on  a  noble  patrimony.  One  is,  that  of 
the  sycophant,  to  tell  him  how  great  he  is. 

Another  way  is,  that  of  wise  friends,  who  tell 
him  that  as  he  has  become  great,  therefore  he 
has  duties;  because  he  has  become  rich,  there- 
fore he  has  responsibilities. 

There  are  two  ways  of  treating  the  Working 
Classes.     One,  to  tell  them  how  enlightened  they 

are. How  powerful. That  Vox  populi  vox 

Dei,  &c. 

Another,  that  of  reminding  them  that  because 
free,  they  should  fit  themselves  for  freedom  ;  be- 
cause destined  to  play  a  great  part  on  the  stage 

27 


272         LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

of  the  world's  history,  therefore  it  behooves  them 
to  cast  off  their  ignorance — their  vices. 

Value  of  these  Institutions.  First,  Habits  of 
self-government  Secondly,  They  expand  the 
sympathies. 

I  hold  it  as  a  principle  that  a  man  is  great  and 
good  in  proportion  to  the  extent  of  his  sym- 
pathies.— The  man  whose  eye  is  ever  fixed  on 
himself  is  the  smallest  of  human  beings. — The 
next  step  is  love  of  Relations. — The  next,  love 
of  Country. — The  next,  sympathy  with  all  that 
belongs  to  Man. 

And  this  is  God's  method  of  gradual  educa- 
tion, through  the  Family,  the  Nation,  the  Race. 

One  means  given  for  this  is  public  news- 
papers, which  tell  of  other  countries. A  wise 

man  gets  out  of  the  paltry  events  of  his  own 
village — election  of  churchwardens,  &c. — to  think 

of   great  questions. Further   still,   the    social 

state  of  other  countries. 

Observe  on  our  English  narrowness,  the  idea 
that  one  Englishman  is  equal  to  two  Frenchmen. 

We  are  apt  to  think  that  English  manners, 

English  literature,  &c.  is  the  only  good  thing  in 
God's  World. 

Recent  case  of  an  illustrious  foreigner,  formerly 
Dictator  of  Hungary.  Received  with  enthusiasm 
by  the  Working  Classes.     I  pronounce  no  opin- 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  273 

ion  in  this  place  about  him.  Some  say  great, 
good,  noble,  others  call  him  a  charlatan  and  revo- 
lutionist. This  matters  not.  The  question  is  not 
so  much  what  a  man  worships,  admires,  but  as 
what.  Kossuth  may  be  no  hero,  if  you  will ;  but 
to  see  those  hard-handed  sons  of  toil  in  Man- 
chester and  Birmingham  honouring  one  whom 
they  thought  good  and  noble,  when  in  exile  and 
oppressed ;  he  has  little  heart  indeed  who  is  not 
touched  by  it. 

Now  this  kind  of  Institution  fits  men  for  Work. 

— Foolish  objection  that  it  incapacitates  them 

for  business. The  labourer  who  knows  some- 
thing of  chemistry — on  what  principle  soils  are 
composed;  why  such  manures  are  employed  in 
one  case  and  not  in  another ;  according  to  what 
laws  decomposition  takes  place — is  a  better  la- 
bourer than  one  who  knows  nothing  of  all  this. 

The  mechanic  who  understands  the  laws  of 
motion,  is  a  better  mechanic  than  the  Chinese 
sort,  who  can  merely  follow  a  copy. 

The  domestic  servant  is  improved  when  she 
understands  the  reason  why  certain  things  are 
done,  and  why  certain  results  follow. 

There  is  a  foolish  prejudice  against  educating 
the  poor,  lest  we  should  fail  to  get  servants  or 
apprentices. 

Putting  aside  the  diabolical   character  of  the 


274  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

objection,  think  of  the  sacrifice  of  a  human  being, 
that  your  work  may  be  done  or  your  food  made ! 

Progress  means — 1.  Not  to  be  free  from  work  ; 
envy  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  false  and  foolish,  if 
by  that  is  meant  persons  who  have  nothing  to  do 

but  to  amuse  themselves. Laws  of  Humanity. 

Greatness. Goodness. Only    through 

toil   is   muscular    strength    and    health    gained. 
Mental  force  is  got  by  struggle  with  difficulty. 

2.  Not  the  obliteration  of  differences  in  rank. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  growth  in  im- 
portance of  the  labouring  classes  will  alter  ranks, 
making  them  less  exclusive,  less  bitter  to  others — 
will  raise  some  who  are  now  degraded,  &c. 

But  it  betrays  an  ignorance  of  human  nature 
to  suppose  that  ranks  will  ever  be  obliterated. 
Superior  tastes,  capacities,  &c.  will  unite  some 
into  a  class,  and  distinguish  them  from  others. 

Gradation  of  ranks  bring  out  various  mani- 
festations  of  our   Humanity. Gratitude. 

Aspiration. Dignity. Respect. 

3.  Not  the  obliteration  of  difference  in  con- 
dition. 

Of  the  many  errors  entertained  by  those  who 
have  advocated  the  cause  of  the  Working  Man, 


BY  REV.  F.   W.  ROBERTSON.  275 

there  are  few  to  be  more  regretted  than  the  exag- 
gerated importance  attached  to  inequality  of  con- 
dition. 

Inequality  of  condition,  so  far  as  it  stints  the 
faculties,  or  cuts  off  from  opportunities  of  infor- 
mation, it  is  well  to  desire  should  be  removed, 
but  in  itself  it  is  a  trifle.  And  all  this  foolish 
exaggeration  fixes  the  attention  on  what  is  ex- 
ternal in  the  condition,  as  if  the  equality  to  be 
arrived  at  were  the  superficial  external  equality. 
It  is  not  this  that  makes  real  inequality.  False 
vulgar  thoughts  that  because  you  cannot  keep  a 
horse  or  drive  a  carriage,  therefore  you  have  not 
your  rights. 

4.  But  progress  means  increased  opportunities 
of  developing  the  heart,  the  conscience,  and  the 
intellect.  It  is  not  each  man's  born  right  to  be 
as  rich  as  his  neighbour,  or  to  possess  the  soil. 

But  it  is  his  inalienable  right  to  be  permitted 
to  develope  all  the  powers  that  God  gave. 

If  the  labourer  live  so  that  the  death  of  a  child 
is  welcomed  by  the  thought  that  there  is  one 
mouth  the  less  to  feed,  he  cannot  develope  his 
heart-affections. 

If  he  lives  in  a  cottage  where  brothers  and 
sisters  sleep  in  one  room,  he  cannot  develope  his 
conscience. 

27* 


276   LECTURES,  &c.  BY  REV.  F.  W.  ROBERTSON. 

If  he  comes  home  overworn,  so  that  he  has  no 
time  to  read,  then  he  cannot  develope  his  intel- 
lect. 

Clearly,  therefore,  define  such  a  social  position 
for  the  labouring  man  as  shall  give  him  scope 
enough  to  be  in  every  sense  of  the  word  a  Man. 
A  Man  whose  respect  is  not  servility ;  whose 
religion  is  not  superstition ;  and  whose  obedience 
is  not  the  drudgery  of  dumb  driven  cattle. 

Until  that  time  come,  the  Working  Classes  are 
not  free. 


A   SPEECH 

Delivered  at  the  Town  Hall,  Brighton,  April  24, 
1849,  at  a  Meeting  of  the  Inhabitants,  called  by 
the  Early  Closing  Association,  presided  over  by 
the  Bishop  of  Chichester* 

The  Resolution  which  has  been  put  into  my 
hands  is, — "  That  this  meeting,  believing  that  an 
earlier  and  more  uniform  hour  of  suspension  of 
business  would  give  time  to  all  engaged  therein 
for  moral  and  intellectual  improvement,  would 
recommend  to  all  tradesmen  the  hour  of  eight 
o'clock  as  the  hour  of  closing  throughout  the 
year ;  and  pledges  itself  to  make  purchases  before 
eight  o'clock  in  the  evenings,  and  to  request  their 
servants  to  do  the  same." 

There  is  a  vast  difference  between  that  which 
is  theoretically  desirable,  and  that  which  is  prac- 
tically possible.  Our  enthusiasm  is  frequently 
corrected  by  experience.  It  throws  too  wild,  too 
sanguine,  a  hope  on  the  future.     But  difficulties 


278  LECTURES    AND    ADDRESSES 

arise  ;  and  that  which  at  first  seemed  easy,  tarns 
out  to  be  at  last  an  impossibility.  It  is  in  almost 
every  undertaking  as  it  is  in  life.  The  lesson  we 
have  to  learn  in  life  is  the  same  lesson  which  we 
have  to  learn  in  travelling  through  a  mountainous 
country.  The  first  lesson  is,  to  estimate  dis- 
tances. The  traveller  sees  the  mountain  summit 
sparkling  in  the  evening  sun,  apparently  close 
above  his  head;  and  he  resolves  that  the  next 
morning  he  will  ascend  that  mountain,  and  come 
down  again  before  breakfast.  But  he  finds  next 
day  a  long  three  miles  between  himself  and  the 
mountain  foot ;  and  that  when  he  has  arrived 
there  it  takes  five  or  six  hours  to  ascend,  and  half 
that  time  to  come  back  again ;  and  it  is  well  if 
he  returns  before  nightfall.  It  is  precisely  the 
same  with  every  human  undertaking.  Our  first 
idea  is  very  different  from  that  which  attainment 
teaches  us.  We  set  out  with  brilliant  expecta- 
tions ;  we  find  them  very  slow  in  realizing  them- 
selves. And  so  life  assumes,  by  degrees,  a  so- 
berer and  a  sadder  hue.  We  find  that  between 
our  ideal  and  its  attainment  there  is  an  immense 
interval.  That  which  seemed  to  be  the  work 
of  days  we  find  to  be  the  work  of  months ;  that 
which  seemed  to  be  the  work  of  years  turns  out 
to  be  the  work  of  centuries.  And  so,  step  by 
step,  man  is  disenchanted — led  on  by  hopes  of  a 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  279 

bright  future  which  is  never  realized  here,  I 
believe  that  the  lesson  of  all  experience  and  of  all 
life  is  this : — to  expect  very  little,  for  there  is  but 
little  of  human  expectation  to  be  attained;  to 
sow  abundantly,  and  to  be  satisfied  with  a  very 
small  harvest  Happy  is  the  man  not  thoroughly 
broken  by  disappointment !  Happy  is  that  man  ! 
for  the  object  of  this  training  is,  not  to  discourage 
him,  but  that  he  may  work  more  calmly,  with 
less  of  fitful  enthusiasm — with  steady  gaze  fixed 
on  the  Hereafter!  I  make  these  observations, 
because  they  are  peculiarly  applicable  to  the  sub- 
ject in  hand.  This  subject  of  Early  Closing  has 
been  taken  up  by  many  people  very  warmly  at 
first,  who  have  cooled  down,  and  have  afterwards 
let  it  drop.  •  Two  or  three  years  ago  there  was  a 
large  meeting  in  this  town  for  the  same  purpose 
as  this  one.  Some  of  those  who  were  then 
enthusiastic  and  earnest  have  by  degrees  become 
lukewarm  and  despondent.  Their  expectations 
have  not  been  realized  ;  much  that  was  hoped  for 
has  not  been  attained;  there  have  been  many 
difficulties  which  were  not  anticipated.  And  so 
the  result  has  been,  that  they  have  fallen  back 
into  coldness  and  indifference.  It  is  for  this 
reason  that  I  think  the  tone  we  should  adopt  this 
evening  should  be  calm  and  sober. 

It  is  exceedingly  easy  to  paint  this  subject  in 


280  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

most  glowing  colours.  It  is  the  easiest  thing  in 
the  world  to  represent  the  young  men  as  craving 
for  intellectual  knowledge,  as  suffering  under 
physical  difficulties,  as  eager  for,  and  requiring 
moral  improvement.  It  is  exceedingly  easy  to 
do  all  this,  because  there  is  a  great  deal  of  truth 
in  it.  It  is  exceedingly  easy,  moreover,  because 
it  is  popular.  But  I  am  not  here  to  say  that 
which  is  popular ;  but  that  which  is  true.  I  am 
not  here  to  say  that  which  shall  win  a  cheer ;  but 
to  say  that  which  shall  be  practical  and  useful. 
We  are  met  here  to-night  for  two  purposes.  To 
resolve  that  "  an  earlier  and  more  uniform  hour 
of  suspension  of  business  would  give  time  to  all 
engaged  therein  for  moral  and  intellectual  im- 
provement ;  "  and  that  the  meeting  "  recommend 
to  all  tradesmen  the  hour  of  eight  o'clock  as  the 
hour  of  closing  throughout  the  year,  and  pledges 
itself  to  make  purchases  accordingly."  The  sub- 
ject is  complicated  with  difficulties ;  and  although 
it  would  be  exceedingly  easy  to  speak  in  denun- 
ciation of  those  opposed  to  this  movement  of 
Early  Closing,  I  feel  there  is  something  to  be  said 
on  both  sides  of  the  question 'T  and  therefore  I  ask 
the  meeting  to  listen  to  me  dispassionately. 

In  considering  this  question,  we  discern  three 
things :  the  desirable,  the  difficult,  the  possible. 

With  regard  to  the  desirable,  I  believe  it  will 


BY  REV.   F.  W.  ROBERTSON.  281 

be  generally  admitted  that  it  is  desirable  for  busi- 
ness to  be  carried  on  within  fewer  hours.  There 
is  a  great  difference  between  the  way  in  which 
this  question  is  to  be  looked  at,  as  a  manufactur- 
ing, and  as  a  trading  question.  The  question 
touching  hours  in  the  factory  does  not  hold  good 
as  to  the  shop.  The  object  of  the  factory  is  to 
produce;  and  it  may  be  argued  that  the  work 
done  in  twelve  hours  cannot  be  done  in  ten.  It 
is  not  true  that  this  argument  can  hold  with 
respect  to  trade.  In  trade  the  object  is,  not  to 
produce  materials,  but  to  serve  customers ;  and 
if  you  take  the  shops  in  which  most  work  is 
done,  there  is  not  one  in  which  there  cannot  be 
found  five  minutes,  ten  minutes,  half  hours,  hours, 
in  which  all  employed  are  not  waiting  for  cus- 
tomers. Let  those  five  minutes  and  half  hours 
be  added  up,  and  they  will  more  than  cover  the 
time  taken  in  serving  after  any  given  hour,  say 
seven  or  eight  o'clock.  If  those  customers  had 
come  in  before  nine  or  ten,  there  is  not  one  in 
this  meeting  who  will  not  acknowledge  there 
were  people  and  time  enough  to  serve  them. 
Then  all  of  us  will  agree  in  the  possibility  that 
the  work  may  be  done  in  less  time.  That,  if  it 
can  be  done  in  less  time,  it  should  be  done,  I 
think  will  also  be  agreed;  and  the  resolution 
furnishes  us  with  the  reasons — "that   an  earlier 


282  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

and  more  uniform  hour  of  suspension  of  business 
would  give  time  to  all  engaged  therein  for  moral 
and  intellectual  improvement." 

Into  the  physical  necessity  for  this  early  closing 
I  shall  not  enter.  It  is  a  medical  question,  and  I 
believe  that  members  of  the  medical  profession, 
who  will  address  you,  will  touch  on  this  with 
more  effect  than  I  could  do.  I  ask  no  further 
proof  of  the  physical  necessity  which  exists,  than 
to  see  the  working  man  and  the  assistant  in  the 
shop,  in  their  Sunday  walk.  There  is  in  their 
gait  a  languor  and  an  effeminacy  which  should 
not  belong  to  Englishmen.  In  the  second  place, 
this  matter  is  necessary  for  the  sake  of  intel- 
lectual improvement.  This  age  has  been  often 
called  the  age  of  the  aristocracy  of  wealth.  The 
aristocracy  of  birth  is  now  much  passed  by.  We 
are  living  in  an  age  in  which  gold  is  worshipped. 
In  former  ages,  "  virtue "  was  "  valour."  In 
Italy,  in  the  present  day,  the  word  "  vertu," 
applied  to  a  man,  means  "  taste  in  amassing 
curiosities."  In  England  we  speak  of  the  worth 
of  a  man  as  proportioned  by  the  amount  of  gold 
which  he  has  been  enabled  to  gather  round  him 
as  a  kind  of  accretion.  And,  therefore,  it  is  a 
matter  of  rejoicing  for  me  to  see  a  meeting  which 
protests  against  a  principle  such  as  this.  This 
meeting  proclaims,  in  the  face  of  the  day,  that 


BY  REV.  F.   W.  ROBERTSON.  283 

there  is  something  more  sublime  in  man  than  the 
worship  of  gold.  It  maintains  that  there  is  in 
the  nature  of  man,  that  which  requires  and  de- 
mands intellectual  and  moral  improvement. 

Now,  with  regard  to  the  intellectual  improve- 
ment, I  shall  not  press  it  too  much.  It  is  per- 
fectly possible  that  it  may  be  exaggerated.  I  will 
not  say  that  all  these  young  men  are  craving  in- 
tellectual knowledge.  The  young  men  in  the 
trading  classes  are  like  the  young  men  in  the 
upper  classes ;  and  I  suppose  that  if  one  out  of 
twenty  in  either  class  is  earnestly  desirous  of  this 
intellectual  knowledge,  it  is  a  large  average.  I 
will  grant  there  is  not  a  difficulty  in  the  way  of 
obtaining  this  knowledge  that  may  not  be  sur- 
mounted. Men  borne  down  by  defects  of  posi- 
tion and  education  have  achieved  for  themselves 
intellectual  emancipation.  Ferguson,  Watt,  and 
Franklin,  are  noble  examples  of  this.  There  are 
men  who  seem  to  be  born  intellectual  heroes ; 
men  born  to  cut  their  way  through  any  obstacles, 
men  who  only  require  to  meet  difficulties  in  their 
way,  and  those  difficulties  will  be  surmounted. 
They  are  like  the  trees  on  the  mountain,  that 
require  no  more  than  a  bare  covering  of  soil 
on  the  rock  to  strike  their  roots  firmly  down  ; 
nothing  more  than  the  clear,  serene,  thin  air  of 
heaven  to  throw  abroad  their  branches  in.    These 


284         LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

are  intellectual  giants;  and  they  would  acquire 
knowledge  under  any  circumstances  ;  it  is  impos- 
sible to  crush  them.  But  it  is  not  for  men  like 
these  that  I  have  to  plead.  The  mass  of  men 
are  not  the  intellectual  giants ;  they  are  rather 
the  humble  and  the  feeble ;  the  exotic,  that  re- 
quires care  and  culture.  They  require  to  be 
fostered,  to  be  placed  on  the  sunny  side  of  the 
hill.  Give  them  opportunities,  give  them  time; 
and  then  it  will  be  found,  not  that  they  will 
attain  grand  intellectual  dimensions,  but  they 
will  achieve  something  like  intellectual  respect- 
ability. And  I  desire  to  mention  one  circum- 
stance, which  seems  to  be  a  strong  corroboration 
of  this  fact.  Some  time  ago,  the  drapers  of  this 
town  resolved  on  closing  at  an  earlier  hour ;  and 
about  the  same  time  the  Brighton  Athene  um 
was  established,  in  order  that  the  young  men 
might  have  an  opportunity  of  intellectual  cultiva- 
tion ;  many  young  men  availed  themselves  of 
those  opportunities.  From  causes  into  which  I 
will  not  now  enter,  the  rule  of  Early  Closing  was 
obliged  to  be  infringed.  Ask  you  the  result  ? 
At  this  time,  the  Athenaeum  contained  some- 
thing like  600  or  700  members.  There  are  about 
200  assistants,  I  am  told,  engaged  in  the  Drapery 
trade  in  this  town ;  and  of  these,  60  were  mem- 
bers of  the  Athenaeum ;  all  but  ten  withdrew.     I 


BY   REV.  F.  W.   ROBERTSON.  285 

will  not  press  too  much  on  this ;  I  know  in  some 
eases  there  were  rooms  provided  by  employers, 
and  libraries  furnished,  and  that  these  withdrew 
them  from  the  Athenaeum ;  but  I  hold  the  case 
indisputably  to  be  this,  that  if  there  be  a  time 
allowed  for  cultivation  of  the  mind,  there  is  on 
the  part  of  the  young  men  a  real  wish  to  avail 
themselves  of  it. 

In  the  next  place,  this  resolution  maintains  that 
Early  Closing  is  necessary  for  "  moral  improve- 
ment." Early  closing  is  necessary  for  leisure. 
Man  was  not  made  to  divide  his  time  between 
Study  and  Work.  Besides  that,  there  must  be 
Recreation.  He  who  made  the  eye,  spread  around 
us  this  world  of  beauty,  and  caused  the  contem- 
plation of  it  to  be  accompanied  by  the  feeling  of 
intense  enjoyment ; — He  who  threw  into  the 
heart  the  power  of  domestic  affection,  gave  it 
delight  in  domestic  sympathy  ;—-He  who  led  his 
disciples  into  the  desert  to  "rest  awhile,"  made 
man  for  recreation.  And,  therefore,  I  am  pre- 
pared to  take  it  on  the  lowest  ground.  The 
young  men  require,  not  merely  mental  instruc- 
tion, but  time  for  pleasure,  for  social  enjoyment, 
for  recreation.  It  is  partly  for  this  purpose  the 
Sabbath  is  necessary  for  man.  It  is  necessary, 
in  the  first  place,  to  nurse  the  Human ;  and,  in 
the  second,  to  nurse  the  Divine  within  him.     In 


286        LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

the  first  to  give  to  man  recreation,  and  in  that  he 
shares  with  the  lowest  animals ;  in  the  second, 
the  cultivation  which  should  nurse  the  Divine 
within  him.  You  have,  in  the  first,  necessity  for 
Rest;  in  the  second,  necessity  for  Worship.  It 
is  the  result  of  the  late  closing  to  make  the 
Sabbath  day  simply  and  solely  a  day  of  rest,  and 
not  of  holiness.  It  may  be  well  to  speak  of  the 
desecration  of  the  Sabbath  day.  To  say  the 
trains  shall  not  run  on  Sundays ;  to  say  the 
citizens  of  London  shall  not  leave  their  homes, 
nor  the  artisan  go  out  of  Brighton  into  the 
country  ; — it  is  easy  to  say  this.  But  we  have 
no  right  to  say  that  if  a  man  has  not  time  for 
rest  in  the  week,  he  shall  not  take  it  on  the 
Sabbath. 

Once  more.  This  Early  Closing  is  wanted  for 
moral  improvement.  For  the  sake  of  "  work,"  I 
draw  a  distinction  between  it  and  "  occupation." 
"  Occupation  "  is  not  "  work."  The  object,  the 
intention,  of  occupation  is  a  blessed  one.  It 
saves  the  mind  from  corrupting  and  wearing  out 
itself.  The  man  who  has  nothing  to  do  is  a 
most  wretched  character.  He  rises  in  the  morn- 
ing, with  fifteen  hours  before  him,  in  which  he 
makes  society  wretched  and  himself  wretched 
also.  There  is  something  else  implied  in  "  work." 
u  Work  "  is  productive.     It  produces  something ; 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  287 

it  gives  to  a  man's  character  self-dependence  and 
inward  strength.  Boswell,  with  his  singular  sim- 
plicity, tells  us  of  an  occasion  in  which  he  was 
overtaken  by  a  storm;  and  he  relates  that  he 
went  about  asking  question  after  question  of  the 
sailors,  interrupting  every  man  in  his  duty,  till  at 
last  a  sailor  put  a  rope  in  his  hand,  and  said, 
"  We  are  in  danger,  and  the  safety  of  the  vessel 
depends  on  this  being  held  with  great  force." 
Occupied  in  this  way,  he  forgot  his  fears;  and 
the  storm  passed  over.  He  had  all  the  while 
been  pulling  a  useless  rope.  His  was  "  occupa- 
tion; "  the  sailor's  "work"  was  productive.  The 
artizan  is  a  man  engaged  in  work ;  he  is  a  man 
who  either  cultivates  the  soil  and  produces  food 
for  man  to  live  upon ;  or,  he  takes  the  raw  ma- 
terial, and  makes  furniture  and  all  things  neces- 
sary for  life.  The  shopkeeper  has  not  "  work," 
but  "  occupation ; "  for  no  man  will  tell  us  that 
the  men  engaged  all  day  long  in  folding  and 
unfolding  ribbons,  showing  them  in  proper  lights, 
and  putting  them  across  the  counter — no  one 
will  tell  us  he  has  been  engaged  in  "  work ; "  he 
has  in  "  occupation."  It  has  saved  himself  and 
society  from  the  wretchedness  cast  upon  idleness. 
Therefore  we  claim  these  hours,  that  young  men 
may  exchange  "  occupation  "  for  "  work."  Young 
men !   For  what  purpose  do  you  ask  early  hours  ? 

28* 


288        LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

Is  it  for  leisure  only  ? — is  it  to  escape  from  occu- 
pation ?  If  that  be  all,  Brighton  is  being  stirred 
for  a  very  small  cause ;  whereas  the  young  men 
who  came  to  me  as  a  deputation,  spoke  of  some- 
thing far  higher.  They  asked  for  time;  not  to 
give  it  to  leisure  only,  not  to  give  it  to  social 
enjoyment  only,  but  to  work,  to  discipline  their 
minds,  to  do  the  great  duty  God  has  given  them 
to  do  on  earth,  that  their  soul,  and  body,  and 
spirit  might  be  presented  perfect  before  their 
Maker. 

And  now  I  come  to  the  second  part  of  what  I 
have  to  say.  Having  spoken  of  the  "  desirable," 
I  pass  on  to  the  "  difficult."  And  the  first  dif- 
ficulty arises  from  the  peculiar  circumstance  of 
Brighton.  Brighton  is  not  a  manufacturing 
town,  neither  is  it  a  commercial  town.  Brighton 
is  a  place  of  enjoyment  for  strangers.  Something 
like  one  third  or  one  fourth  will  be  found  not  to 
be  residents,  but  extraneous  of  the  population. 
Every  Saturday,  London  pours  out  thousands  to 
take  advantage  of  the  sea  air.  Let  any  man  go 
to  the  railway  station,  and  he  will  be  astonished 
to  see  the  mass  of  human  beings  flocking  into  the 
town.  What  is  the  result?  Numbers  come 
down  by  the  last  train.  They  go  to  the  hotels 
and  lodging-houses,  and  there  are  articles  of  con- 
sumption wanted.     They   send   out — they  must 


BY  REV.  F.  W.  ROBERTSON.  289 

send  out — for  their  provisions ;  and  then,  if  a 
tradesman  refuses  to  sell,  one  difficulty  is,  that  he 
may  have  lost  a  customer  for  life.  There  is 
another  difficulty.  They  go  through  the  place, — 
through  the  principal  streets  of  the  town ;  and 
then,  every  tradesman  knows  that  during  the  last 
two  hours  of  the  day,  sauntering  about  there, 
there  are  numbers  of  people  who  will  be  induced 
to  go  into  the  shops  and  purchase  the  goods  which 
are  seen  in  the  brilliantly-lighted  windows ;  and  it 
requires  a  strong  amount  of  principle  for  the  mas- 
ter tradesman  to  say  he  will  sacrifice  a  profit, 
which,  if  he  does,  he  will  never  have  in  any  other 
way. 

Again.  The  town  is  the  resort  of  the  wealthy 
— of  the  aristocracy.  There  is  a  difference  be- 
tween this  town  and  manufacturing  towns  on  that 
account.  I  have  inquired,  and  I  find  that,  in 
Sheffield,  and  Birmingham,  and  Liverpool,  and 
most  places  of  that  kind,  the  early  closing  is  easily 
carried  out,  and  carried  out  at  even  earlier  hours 
than  seven;  for  in  manufacturing  towns, life  is  of 
a  different  description.  There  all  men  play  into 
each  other's  hands — all  understand  each  other's 
necessities.  But,  at  Brighton  and*  Cheltenham, 
there  is  a  peculiar  difficulty ;  and  the  difficulty 
arises  partly  from  this — that  the  inhabitants  are 
the  wealthy.    Here,  much  is  different ;  few  under- 

29 


290  LECTURES   AND   ADDRESSES 

stand  one  another ;  and  when  we  come  to  in- 
quire, we  find  that  it  is  not  the  purchases  of  the 
rich  themselves  that  form  the  great  staple  in  the 
occupation  of  these  late  hours,  but  it  is  the  ser- 
vants of  the  rich  classes.  And  here  I  would  say 
a  word  to  mistresses  on  a  subject  of  which  they 
can  necessarily  know  nothing.  I  made  it  my 
business  to  make  inquiries  of  the  police,  and  the 
information  given  to  me  by  them  was  of  the  most 
appalling  character,  because  it  told  a  sad  tale  of 
the  result  of  that  which  is  done  in  perfect  igno- 
rance. When  the  female  servant  is  sent  out  at 
night,  the  mistress  knows  not  the  consequences, 
nor  the  sin  and  misery  which  often  comes  from 
female  servants  going  out  at  late  hours  to  pur- 
chase. I  do  not  say  this  in  a  spirit  of  indignation 
against  those  mistresses  and  employers.  It  is 
simply  ignorance  on  their  part,  not  hard-hearted- 
ness.  But  it  is  a  thing  to  impress  upon  ourselves 
and  others,  that  there  is 

"  An  evil  wrought  by  want  of  thought, 
As  well  as  want  of  heart." 

I  pass  on  to  another  difficulty ;  and  that  arises 
from  the  deterioration  of  the  character  of  the 
young  men  themselves.  Those  who  are  present 
now  are  not  the  master-tradesmen;  or  I  would 
take  a  different  course.  Those  present  now  are 
most  anxious  that  the  masters  should  concede  this 


BY  REV.  F.  W.  ROBERTSON.  291 

boon  of  early  closing;  and  therefore  I  will  say, 
not  that  which  may  be  popular,  but  that  which 
may  be  calculated  to  do  good.  In  the  first  place, 
there  is  a  feeling  widely  existing,  that  the  use 
made  of  this  privilege  is  not  what  it  ought  to 
have  been.  All  the  returns  of  your  libraries  show 
how  few  works  of  information  are  read — how 
many  of  fiction.  More  than  that,  the  police  tell 
us  that  the  cigar-shop  reaps  a  terrible  harvest  out 
of  the  wages  of  the  young  men  ;  that  the  billiard- 
table  is  at  work ;  that  the  public-houses,  and 
houses  worse  than  they,  are  full.  I  therefore  press 
this  matter  urgently  on  the  young  men.  Better 
far  that  the  hours  of  business  should  even  be  ex- 
tended, than  that  extra  hours  should  be  gained  for 
licentiousness  (so  falsely  called  pleasure),  or  for 
mere  idleness,  which  is  the  grave  of  a  living  man. 
Better,  far !  for  your  whole  being,  physical,  moral, 
and  intellectual.  Beware,  too,  of  eye-service,  for 
I  have  it  from  the  master  of  some  of  the  men,  that 
he  has  lost  confidence  in  them  in  respect  of  their 
attention  to  business  when  not  overlooked.  The 
way  in  which  your  leaders  have  acted,  and  the 
sentiments  they  have  expressed  on  this  subject, 
do  them  great  honour.  And  if  the  young  men 
used  the  privilege  of  early  closing  on  the  prin- 
ciple set  forth  by  their  leaders,  the  last  difficulty 
will  vanish  away. 


292        LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

There  is,  however,  a  difficulty  in  this  respect, 
that  it  is  hardly  possible  to  legislate  in  an  arti- 
ficial manner.  We  desire  that  the  shops  should 
be  closed  at  eight.  This  law,  like  other  laws, 
will  be  of  advantage,  if  it  be  in  accordance  with 
the  feeling  produced  already  in  society ;  but,  if  it 
be  superimposed  on  society,  it  must  fail.  Every 
thing  of  legislation  coercive,  and  not  expressive 
of  the  mind  and  desire  of  Society,  must  fail. 
When  England  tried  to  force  her  Episcopacy  on 
Scotland,  the  result  was,  that  the  Episcopacy  was 
thrown  off,  never  probably  to  be  placed  in  power 
there  again.  When  England  tried  to  force  Prot- 
estantism on  Ireland,  compulsorily,  the  result  was, 
that  Roman  Catholicism  became  the  religion 
of  the  land.  So  with  private  individuals.  The 
law  can  never  be  compulsorily  enforced.  We 
must  proceed  from  that  which  is  within  to  that 
which  is  without;  and  not  from  that  which  is 
without  to  that  which  is  within.  A  man  of  dis- 
orderly habits  tries  to  regulate  himself  by  an  out- 
ward rule ;  and  he  sits  down  and  maps  out  his 
time  and  proposes  a  plan  of  action,  and  he  has  it 
on  his  paper  beautifully  arranged,  the  books  he 
will  read  and  the  acts  he  will  do.  Go  to  him  in 
three  months,  and  ask  him  the  result.  It  is  not 
reality.  It  is  Law,  not  Spirit ;  therefore  the  thing 
has  failed.     Therefore  do  I  protest  most  earnestly 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  293 

against  any  attempt  to  carry  this  early  closing 
movement  by  coercion.  I  protest  against  any 
thing  like  dictation  to  the  master-tradesmen.  I 
protest  against  any  thing  like  an  attempt  at  com- 
pulsion. It  was  said  to  me  a  few  days  ago,  that 
this  was  a  conspiracy  against  the  masters.  We 
repel  that,  in  the  name  of  the  young  men ;  we  pro- 
test against  it ;  we  protest  against  every  thing  by 
which  the  masters  may  be  held  up  to  ridicule ; 
and,  with  just  as  much  indignation  as  I  should 
protest  against  carrying  the  point  by  breaking 
windows  in  the  street,  I  protest  against  any  at- 
tempt to  carry  out  the  principle  of  exclusive  deal- 
ing. I  hold  in  my  hands  the  report  of  a  recent 
meeting  in  favour  of  exclusive  dealing.  It  was 
with  much  regret  that  I  read  it. 

I  protest  most  strongly  against  this  principle. 
In  the  first  place,  because  it  makes  that  prominent 
which  ought  to  be  subordinate.  It  is  quite  suffi- 
cient ground  for  dealing  with  a  tradesman,  that 
he  is  moral,  that  his  wares  are  good  ;  but  when 
we  take  a  ground  such  as  this,  that  though  he  be 
a  moral  and  good  man,  and  sells  goods  better 
than  his  neighbours,  because  he  does  not  choose 
to  do  what  we  do,  we  will  not  deal  with  him,  we 
make  that  prominent  which  ought  to  be  subor- 
dinate. Again,  I  protest  against  it  because  it  is 
illiberal.      There  are   men  who   hold — I   believe 


294  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

mistakenly — that  such  a  measure  as  this  of  Early 
Closing  would  be  injurious  to  the  young  men  and 
to  society.  We  believe  they  are  wrong,  but  it  is 
their  opinion  ;  and  I  ask  on  what  possible  ground 
men  can  come  forward  and  demand  of  us  that 
we  should  deal  exclusively,  because  a  man  does 
not  hold  our  views  on  the  subject,  and  then  com- 
plain of  us  if  we  deal  exclusively  with  those  who 
hold  our  own  political,  or  our  own  ecclesiastical 
views  ? 

And  now,  to  pass  briefly  to  the  remainder  of 
what  I  have  to  say.  All  at  present  shows  a  diffi- 
culty ;  but  nothing  which  is  impracticable.  Let 
it  be  clearly  understood  that  in  all  those  difficul- 
ties there  is  not  one  that  ought  to  stand  in  the 
way  of  Early  Closing ;  and  I  have  a  pleasure  in 
proposing  this  resolution,  because  the  language  it 
uses  is  the  language,  not  of  coercion,  nor  of  dic- 
tation, but  of  recommendation.  It  pledges  us  to 
recommend  to  all  tradesmen  the  adoption  of  eight 
o'clock  as  the  hour  of  closing.  There  are  master 
tradesmen  who  do  their  duty  by  their  assistants. 
There  are  some  who  look  on  their  young  men  as 
objects  committed  by  God  to  their  charge,  and 
desire  to  treat  them  as  their  children.  And  there 
are  master  tradesmen,  who  open  for  their  young 
men  rooms,  and  have  lectures,  and  all  kinds  of 
instruction.      Let  us  have  but  a  hundred  such 


BY  REV.  F.  W.  ROBERTSON.  295 

masters,  and  the  whole  question  of  Early  Closing 
is  safe. 

It  is  possible  and  practicable  to  force  this  ques- 
tion on  the  attention  of  the  community.  We 
pledge  ourselves  in  this  resolution  to  do  all  we 
can  to  promote  so  desirable  an  object,  by  making 
all  purchases  before  the  evening,  and  requesting 
the  heads  of  establishments  to  do  the  same.  Let 
us  not  pledge  ourselves  in  a  moment  of  enthusi- 
asm. When  the  blood  burns,  we  know  how  prod- 
igally the  tongue  vows.  It  is  easy  in  enthusiastic 
moments  to  make  a  pledge ;  but  let  us  pledge 
ourselves,  to  endeavour  to  understand  the  immense 
importance  of  this  subject,  and  to  act  out  our  con- 
victions fully  and  completely.  Let  us  understand 
that  there  are  higher  aims  than  merely  obtaining 
Early  Closing.  What  we  want  is,  not  to  get  a 
stringent  law  to  cany  out  our  own  principles,  but 
to  promote  a  pervading  spirit  of  good  feeling 
through  all  classes ;  in  one  word,  to  feel  that  u  we 
are  members  one  of  another." 


A  SPEECH 

Delivered  at  a  Meeting  of  the  Brighton  District 
Association  for  Improving  the  Dwellings  of  the 
Industrious  Classes,  held  at  the  Pavilion,  Brigh- 
ton, November  25,  1852. 

The  Rev.  F.  W.  Robertson  moved, — "  That 
this  meeting  hears  with  satisfaction  the  success 
which  has  attended  the  establishment  of  the 
Brighton  Branch  of  the  Metropolitan  Association 
for  Improving  the  Dwellings  of  the  Industrious 
Classes,  and  is  of  opinion  that  the  extension  of 
the  undertaking  will  be  the  means  of  conferring 
more  extensively  essential  benefit  on  the  social 
and  moral  condition  of  the  working  classes  of  the 
town  of  Brighton ;  and  that  such  extension  will 
be  more  effectually  promoted  by  obtaining  an 
increase  in  the  number  of  shares,  which  it  pledges 
itself  to  use  its  best  exertions  to  effect." 

It  is  to  one  sentence,  alone,  of  this  resolution 
that  I  shall  direct  a  few  observations :  that  in 
which  we  say  that  "  this  will  be  the  means  of 


LECTURES,  &c.  BY  REV.  F.  W.  ROBERTSON.    297 

conferring  more  extensively  essential  benefit  on 
the  social  and  moral  condition  of  the  working 
classes  of  the  town  of  Brighton."  The  great  ob- 
ject for  which  institutions,  such  as  this,  are  estab- 
lished, is  to  procure  for  the  working  classes  a 
"  Home."  To  explain  the  meaning  of  this  word 
is  unnecessary;  before  an  English  audience  it  is 
superfluous.  There  is  not  one  present  to-day  who 
has  not  been,  even  from  childhood,  familiar  with 
all  those  sacred  associations  which  God  has 
thrown  in  such  profusion  around  the  precincts  of 
Home;  but  to  the  great  majority  of  the  poor  in 
this  country,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  Home. 
We  dare  not,  cannot  say,  that  those  two  small 
rooms  in  which  a  whole  family  are  huddled  up 
together ;  those  two  rooms  which  serve  for  kitchen, 
sleeping-room,  parlour,  and  for  every  thing ;  in 
which  there  are  no  conveniences  and  no  comforts, 
and  in  which,  when  a  man  or  a  child  may  be 
dying,  he  would  be  disturbed  by  the  necessary 
noise  and  bustle  of  the  family, — we  dare  not, 
except  in  mockery,  call  that,  in  a  Christian  land, 
a  "  Home" 

Yet  we  too  often  ignore  this  condition  of  the 
poor  man's  dwelling,  and  hence  arise  many  prac- 
tical fallacies.  I  will  mention  but  one  :  the  mis- 
take with  respect  to  the  possibility  of  the  poor 
man  spending  the  Lord's-day  as  he  should.    This 


298  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

subject  has  occupied  much  attention  in  this 
country.  There  has  been  a  project  recently  set 
on  foot  by  a  large  number  of  philanthropists,  and 
a  large  number  of  speculators,  in  different  parts 
of  the  country,  to  establish  edifices  or  buildings 
in  which  the  poor  shall  have  recreation,  pleasure, 
and  instruction  ;  and  some  of  these,  one  especially, 
the  importance  of  which  overrides  all  the  others,  it 
has  been  proposed  to  open  on  the  Lord's-day,  and' 
that  too  with  the  sanction  of  the  Government. 
This  has  been  met  by  a  very  large  proportion  of 
the  religious  inhabitants  of  this  country  with  great 
dismay  and  indignation.  It  has  appeared  to  them 
that  this  is  a  desecration  of  the  Lord's-day,  a 
breaking  of  the  covenant  between  God  and  his 
people.  They  have  drawn  most  touching  pic- 
tures of  the  poor  man  spending  his  Sabbath 
evenings  surrounded  by  his  family,  and  with  the 
Bible  open  before  him.  I  am  not  about  to  pro- 
nounce any  opinion  with  respect  to  the  view 
entertained  among  religious  people  on  this  subject. 
There  are  two  views  entertained  on  this  question, 
and  both  these  ought,  in  all  Christian  consistency, 
to  be  allowed  to  those  who  hold  them.  Some  be- 
lieve that  the  Sabbath,  the  Jewish  Sabbath,  if  not 
in  its  integrity  and  strictness,  at  all  events  with  a 
certain  degree  of  modified  strictness,  accordant 
with  the  superior  genius  of  Christianity,  should 


BY  REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  299 

be  observed.  Some,  on  the  other  hand,  believe 
that  the  Jewish  Sabbath  is  altogether  abrogated  ; 
that  the  Lord's-day  is  not  the  same  thing;  that 
it  did  not  arise  out  of  it,  nor  was  it  a  transfer  of 
one  day  to  another,  but  that  what  has  succeeded 
the  Jewish  Sabbath  is  not  what  we  call  the  Lord's- 
day  ;  that  it  is  not  one  day  alone  that  the  Chris- 
tian is  to  observe,  but  a  grander,  larger,  more 
spiritual  day,  the  day  of  the  whole  life,  the  sancti- 
fication  of  the  whole  life  of  man,  to  be  yielded  to 
God,  as  purchased  by  Christ.  With  respect  to 
the  truth  of  these  two  conflicting  opinions,  we 
have  nothing,  at  present,  to  do.  All  we  have  to 
consider  is,  how  far  we  can  with  any  consistency 
agree  upon  this  point.  We  are  all  agreed  on  this, 
that  the  most  blessed  institution  which  has  de- 
scended to  us  from  our  forefathers  is  the  Christian 
Lord's-day.  All,  I  believe,  are  agreed  in  this: 
that  it  is  deeply  rooted  as  an  institution  in  the 
necessities  of  our  human  nature ;  and  that  to  give 
up  the  Lord's-day,  merely  to  the  physical  or  intel- 
lectual needs  of  man  will  be  utterly  insufficient, 
and  that  the  higher  and  truer  half  of  man,  that 
which  makes  him  a  spiritual  creature,  being  un- 
cared  for,  the  Sabbath  will  be  but  a  very  imperfect 
day  of  rest.  We  are  all  agreed  also,  in  an  earnest 
resolve  to  set  our  faces  against  those  views,  now  so 
common,  which  identify  the  Christianizing  of  the 


300         LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

population  with  the  humanizing  of  the  population. 
We  believe  that  to  humanize  is  one  thing ;  that  to 
Christianize  is  another  thing.  We  believe  that 
pictures,  statues,  music,  aesthetics,  tropical  plants5 
and  all  the  other  contents  and  adjuncts  of  these 
places,  valuable  as  they  are  in  humanizing,  are 
utterly  insufficient  to  produce  the  Christianity  of 
the  Cross.  We  are  all  agreed  in  believing  that 
there  is  a  distinction  between  aesthetics  and  relig- 
ious worship,  between  the  worship  of  the  Beauti- 
ful and  the  worship  of  Holiness.  We  are,  there- 
fore, all  agreed  in  an  earnest  desire  that,  among 
all  classes  of  the  country,  there  should  be  a  more 
religious,  pure,  and  holy  observance  of  the  Lord's- 
day.  But  now,  let  me  ask  the  question,  With 
what  consistency  can  we  demand  of  the  poor  man 
that  he  shall  have  no  recreation  of  an  out-doors 
kind,  if  we  have  done  nothing  to  provide  for  him 
a  home  within  doors,  wherein  to  spend  the  Chris- 
tian Sabbath  ? 

It  was  only  yesterday  that  I  conversed  with  an 
intelligent  working  man  in  this  town,  and  the  man 
expressed  in  very  striking  language  the  bitter  in- 
dignation which  was  felt  by  his  class  towards 
those  who  were,  as  he  said,  in  a  bigoted  way 
endeavouring  to  rob  them  of  their  Sabbath.  I 
trust  that  I  convinced  him,  I  tried  at  all  events 
with  all  my  heart  to  convince  him,  that  it  was  not 


BY  REV.  F.   W.  ROBERTSON.  301 

bigotry  in  those  who  tried  to  take  from  the  work- 
ing men  their  Sabbath ;  but  I  am  not  sure  that  I 
convinced  the  man  that  there  was  not  great  igno- 
rance on  the  part  of  those  persons,  with  regard  to 
the  necessities  of  the  poor.  It  seems,  therefore, 
that  the  only  true  and  proper  answer  we  can  make 
to  the  poor  man,  when  he  expresses  indignation  at 
being  robbed  of  his  out-door  Sabbath,  is  by  an 
institution  such  as  this,  which  would  give  him 
a  home  wherein  to  spend  an  in-door  Sabbath. 
Every  institution  of  this  kind  seems  to  tell  of  a 
new  era  in  the  Human  Race  and  of  the  progress 
of  civilization.  What  is  the  true  characteristic  of 
the  present  age  ?  It  is  a  disposition  to  acknowl- 
edge the  importance  and  the  value  of  that  which 
appears  to  be  small  and  insignificant.  When  Mr. 
Wordsworth  announced  this  as  the  great  truth 
and  the  great  principle  of  all  the  poetry  of  life,  he 
was  met  with  a  universal  shout  of  laughter  ;  but 
the  spirit  of  the  remark  has  since  permeated  all 
society,  and  all  our  literature.  It  is  the  charac- 
teristic of  the  age — it  is  the  characteristic  of  its 
literature.  The  most  popular  and  the  most  vig- 
orous of  the  writers  of  this  day  arose  first  to  em- 
inence by  drawing  the  attention  of  the  country 
to  the  modes  of  thinking,  the  feeling,  the  living, 
and  even  the  slang  of  the  lower  classes ;  and 
that  book  which  has  occupied,  and  is  still  occu- 

30 


302         LECTUKES  AND  ADDRESSES 

pying  the  attention  both  of  Europe  and  Amer- 
ica>* — to  what  is  owing  its  singular  power,  but 
to  the  thrilling  interest  it  has  thrown  around 
the  thought,  that  in  the  negro  himself  there  is  a 
common  humanity  with  our  own — in  the  lowest 
of  the  species  something  that  agrees  even  with 
the  highest !  It  must  be  an  era  marking  a  changed 
state  of  things,  when  princes  and  nobles,  instead 
of  occupying  their  time  with  battles  and  tourna- 
ments, are  occupied  with  subjects  such  as  Improv- 
ing the  Dwellings  of  the  Poor,  and  the  construction 
of  Baths  and  Wash-houses.  This,  I  think,  must 
prove  that  we  have  arrived  at  a  state  of  things  in 
which  the  smallest,  the  minutest  atoms  of  the 
species  become  of  importance ;  when  members  of 
the  Government  are  absolutely  not  ashamed  to 
give  lectures,  and  to  enlighten  the  people  on  the 
necessity  of  drainage  and  sanitary  regulations — 
surely  this  is  significant.  And  in  all  this,  we  have, 
I  think,  the  very  genius  and  spirit  of  Christianity ; 
we  have  that  which,  1800  years  ago,  was  declared 
when  an  Apostle  told  us, "  Nay,  more,  those  mem- 
bers of  the  body  which  seem  to  be  more  feeble  are 
necessary ;  and  those  members  of  the  body  which 
we  think  to  be  less  honourable,  upon  these  we 
bestow  more  abundant  honour." 

In  that  book  to  which  I  have  already  adverted, 
*  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin." 


BY  REV.  F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  303 

there  is  an  incident  related  which  struck  me  as  it 
were  with  a  flush  of  surprise,  because  it  brought 
a  well-known  and  little  thought-of  passage  of 
Scripture  under  notice  with  new  associations.  It 
is  that  in  which  two  adults  are  represented  as 
gazing  on  the  play  of  two  young  children.  One 
of  the  children  was  a  female  slave ;  the  other,  the 
daughter  of  the  lady  of  the  mansion.  Of  the 
adults,  one  was  a  man  whose  feelings,  as  is  but 
too  commonly  the  case,  were  far  beyond  his 
attainments,  his  aspirations  beyond  his  will.  He 
had  consequently  sunk  down  into  that  state  of 
mere  sentimentalism,  which  is  inseparably  con- 
nected with  thinking  well  and  not  doing  well,  and 
he  is  represented  as  contented  with,  from  time  to 
time,  an  indignant  and  sarcastic  expression  on  the 
inconsistency  of  those  around  him.  The  other 
was  a  lady  whose  whole  life  had  been  spent  in 
the  acquisition  of  maxims,  but  who  had  not  been 
able  to  live  deeply  in  the  spirit  of  those  maxims. 
These  children  were  at  play,  and  one  was  seen  to 
throw  her  arms  around  the  other ;  and  that  other, 
who  had  evaded  all  attempts  to  soften,  or  to  tame, 
was  melted  by  the  tenderness  of  her  white  sister ; 
and  an  expression  burst  from  the  lips  of  the  lady 
to  the  effect,  that  now  she  understood  the  deep 
meaning  and  spirit  there  was  in  the  passage  of 
Scripture,  "  He  laid  his  hands  upon  them,  and 


304  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

healed  them."  She  had  up  to  this  time  been 
uttering  maxims  with  regard  to  the  equality  of 
the  human  race ;  but  she  had  not "  laid  her  hands  " 
upon  the  negroes.  I  do  not  say  but  that  this  is 
fanciful ;  yet  it  strikes  at  the  deep  root  of  it  all, 
for  the  great  difference  between  His  love  of  the 
human  race  and  ours,  the  great  difference  in  the 
way  He  stated  the  Brotherhood  of  the  Race  is  this, 
that  His  was  real,  and  true,  and  deep,  and  full  of 
kindly  sympathy.  It  was  not  standing  apart  from 
them ;  but  mixing  with  them,  and  being  one  with 
them  ;  and  therefore  it  is,  that  what  we  are  now 
to  do  is,  to  put  our  hands  on  our  fellow-men,  and 
touch  the  littleness  and  vulgarities  of  their  daily 
life.  It  is  just  that  which  this  institution  desires 
to  do,  in  building  for  them  a  Home.  It  has  long 
appeared  to  me  that  Christianity  is  a  true  medium 
between  those  two  opposite  extremes,  Spiritualism 
and  Socialism.  The  spiritualist  maintains  that 
man  may  make  his  circumstances,  and  so  it  takes 
no  account  whatsoever  of  the  circumstances  by 
which  the  man  may  be  surrounded ;  it  believes  that 
the  Spirit,  which  is  of  God,  may  rise  above  those 
circumstances.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  a  great 
maxim  of  Socialism  that  circumstances  make  the 
man.  And  so,  the  very  author  of  Socialism  tells 
us  that,  if  we  have  efficient  laws  and  altered 
Social  regulations,  we  shall  have  true  and  right 


BY  REV.   F.   W.  ROBERTSON.  305 

men  ;  and  if  we  will  but  take  away  all  the  temp- 
tations to  vice,  we  shall  have  no  vice.  These  are 
the  two  extreme  systems ;  Christianity  does  not 
steer  the  via  media  between  these  two  extremes — 
no  truth  does.  Christianity  states  the  truth,  by 
stating  both  extremes.  It  is  the  spirit  of  Chris- 
tianity, that  man  makes  his  circumstances,  and, 
besides,  that  the  circumstances  make  the  man. 
The  Scriptures,  interested  principally  with  our 
spiritual  nature,  are  also  interested  with  our  phys- 
ical nature ;  and  the  Redeemer  of  the  soul  is 
declared  to  be  the  Saviour  also  of  the  body.  It 
appears  to  me  that  the  grand  consummation,  for 
which  all  are  waiting,  the  Kingdom  of  Christ  set 
up  on  earth,  never  can  be  established  till  we  have 
reached  this  conviction ;  and  all  the  outer  and 
inner  life  must  work  together,  until  we  have  done 
all  that  in  us  lies,  not  only  to  preach  and  teach 
the  truth,  but  to  take  away  the  hindrances  which 
stand  in  the  way  of  truth.  And  what  is  the  life 
of  the  poor  man  in  his  cottage  ? 

Before  a  mixed  audience,  I  cannot  go  deeply 
into  the  details  of  this.  I  have  seen  a  family  of 
nine,  father  and  mother,  grown-up  sons  and 
daughters,  with  but  one  sleeping-room,  and  in 
that  sleeping-room  only  two  beds.  I  will  not  go 
into  the  result ;  before  a  Christian  assembly  they 
are  not  to  be  named.     But  what  is  Purity,  what 

30* 


306  LECTURES  AND   ADDRESSES 

is  Modesty,  what  is  the  Christian  Gospel  preached 
to  such  a  family  as  that?  It  may  appear  to 
some,  that  to  have  gone  into  all  these  large  prin- 
ciples is  something  like  magniloquence  ;  for,  after 
all,  when  we  speak  of  what  we  have  done,  we 
have  only  built  apartments  for  ten  families  and 
seven  single  persons.  But  the  rest  is  to  come ; 
and  it  is  a  great  thing  to  have  established  a  stand- 
ard, to  have  set  up  before  our  poorer  brethren  a 
specimen  of  a  higher  and  better  mode  of  living. 
Political  economists  say,  the  evil  of  the  country 
is  over-population  consequent  on  improvident 
marriages.  This  is  partly  true,  but  their  remedy  is 
insufficient.  There  is  no  difficulty  in  preventing 
improvident  marriages  among  the  upper  classes ; 
and  for  this  reason — they  know  what  comfort  is 
— and  they  will  not,  except  there  is  very  small 
self-control,  marry  and  sink  in  the  scale  of  society. 
But  the  poor  man  often  feels  that  he  can  sink  no 
lower.  Why  then,  he  might  ask  himself,  should 
I  not  marry  ?  And  when  this  morning  I  saw  the 
Building  in  Church  Street,  with  every  window 
curtained,  and  the  whole  aspect  so  different  from 
the  buildings  around,  the  thought  suggested  itself 
to  my  mind,  and  it  must  also  have  suggested 
itself  to  the  minds  of  those  who  accompanied 
me, — It  is  impossible  that  those  who  live  in  this 
locality,   and   look   at  this   building,   should   be 


BY  REV.  F.  W.  ROBERTSON.  307 

satisfied  with  the  state  in  which  they  are  now 
living.  They  will  aspire  to  higher  things.  "We 
are  bound,  every  one  of  us,  to  pledge  ourselves 
to  use  our  best  exertions  to  effect  the  prosperity 
of  such  an  Institution  as  this  Society  for  improv- 
ing the  Dwellings  of  the  Labouring  Classes. 


A   SPEECH 


In  reply  to  an  Address  presented  to  him  by  One 
Hundred  Young  Men  of  his  Congregation,  at 
the  Town  Hall,  Brighton,  April  20,  1852. 

Mr.  Chairman  and  Gentlemen, — I  should  be 
guilty  of  affectation  if  I  were  to  disguise  the  sat- 
isfaction and  deep  gratefulness  which  I  feel  for 
the  Address  which  you  have  just  presented  me. 
No  one  can  feel  more  deeply  than  I  do,  the  defi- 
ciencies, the  faults,  the  worthlessness  of  the  min- 
istry of  which  you  have  spoken  so  kindly  and 
so  warmly.  Whatever  eyes  have  scanned  those 
deficiencies,  I  will  answer  for  it  that  none  have 
scanned  them  so  severely  as  my  own.  Others 
may  have  detected  its  faults  more  keenly,  no  one 
has  felt  them  as  bitterly  as  I  have.  And  yet,  for 
all  this,  I  shall  not  for  one  moment  disguise  my 
belief  that  much  of  what  has  been  said  to-night 
is  true.  We  have  not  come  here  to  bandy  com- 
pliments with  one  another.     You  have  not  come 


LECTURES,  &c.  BY  REV.  F.  W.   ROBERTSON.  309 

to  flatter  me;  and  I  have  not  come,  with  any 
affected  coyness,  to  pretend  to  disclaim  your  flat- 
tery, in  order  that  it  may  be  repeated.  You  have 
told  me,  in  the  frank  spirit  of  Englishmen,  that 
my  ministry  has  done  you  good.  Frankly,  as  an 
Englishman,  I  tell  you  with  all  my  heart,  I  do 
believe  it.  I  know  that  there  are  men  who  once 
wandered  in  darkness  and  doubt,  and  could  find 
no  light,  who  have  now  found  an  anchor,  and  a 
rock,  and  resting-place.  I  know  that  there  are 
men  who  were  feeling  bitterly  and  angrily,  what 
seemed  to  them  the  unfair  differences  of  society, 
who  now  regard  them  in  a  gentler,  more  humble, 
and  more  tender  spirit.  I  know  that  there  are 
rich  who  have  been  led  to  feel  more  generously 
towards  the  poor.  I  know  that  there  are  poor 
who  have  been  taught  to  feel  more  truly,  and 
more  fairly  towards  the  rich.  I  believe — for  on 
such  a  point  God  can  only  know — that  there  are 
men  who  have  been  induced  to  place  before 
themselves  a  higher  standard,  and  perhaps  I  may 
venture  to  add,  have  conformed  their  lives  more 
truly  to  that  standard.  I  dare  not  hide  my  belief 
in  this.  I  am  deeply  grateful  in  being  able  to 
say  that,  if  my  ministry  were  to  close  to-morrow 
it  would  not  have  been,  in  this  town  at  least,  alto- 
gether a  failure.  There  is  no  vanity  in  saying 
this.     A  man  must  be  strangely  constituted  in- 


310  LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

deed  if  he  can  say  such  things,  and  not  feel 
deeply  humbled  in  remembering  what  that  in- 
strument is,  how  weak,  how  frail,  how  feeble,  by 
which  the  work  is  done.  I  desire  to  feel  this 
evening  far  less  the  honour  that  may  have  been 
done  to  myself,  than  the  opportunity  that  is  given 
to  us  for  meeting  together  in  Christian  union  and 
brotherhood.  We  are  met  here  to-night,  a  minis- 
ter of  the  Church  of  England,  a  minister  of  the 
Gospel  of  Jesus  Christ,  invited  by  young  men, 
of  that  age  at  which  it  is  generally  supposed  that 
the  hot  blood  of  youth  incapacitates,  or  indis- 
poses them  towards  religion.  "We  are  met  here, 
many  of  those  around  me  of  the  richer  classes  of 
society,  invited  by  those  who  are  in  a  humbler 
and  far  poorer  class,  and  is  it  possible  for  me  to 
see  in  a  picture  such  as  this,  merely  the  promi- 
nent object  of  myself?  Is  it  possible  for  me,  as 
a  Christian,  to  see  any  thing  in  this — almost  any 
thing — except  a  foretaste  of  better  and  happier 
times  ?  A  pledge  of  a  coming  time,  when  that 
shall  be  realized,  of  which  that  which  we  now  see 
is  but  the  representation  ;  like  the  ancient  agapce, 
or  feasts  of  charity,  in  which  the  Corinthian 
churches,  and  many  other  churches,  exhibited 
before  the  world  the  blessed  fact  of  a  Church, 
and  of  a  Brotherhood  existing  here  on  earth. 
These  signatures,  which   are   appended   to   this 


BY  REV.  F.  W.  ROBERTSON.  311 

Address  you  have  given  me,  will  be  to  me,  I 
trust,  in  future  times,  in  many  a  dark  hour,  a 
consolation  and  encouragement.  For  if  I  have 
been  liable — and  what  public  man  has  not — to 
have  at  times,  and  in  certain  quarters,  my  words 
misrepresented,  my  motives  misconstrued,  the 
whole  aim  and  object  of  my  teaching  utterly  per- 
verted— unintentionally,  I  am  sure — yet  surely — 
surely — there  is  a  rich  recompense  in  the  warm 
and  affectionate  professions  of  respect  which  you 
have  made  to  me  this  night.  Surely  there  is 
abundant  overpayment,  in  the  affectionate  regard 
with  which  I  have  been  met  in  Brighton,  in  so 
many  personal  attachments,  some  of  the  kindest 
and  warmest  of  those  friends  being  now  around 
me,  for  whose  presence  here  this  evening,  I  have 
to  thank  your  graceful  and  touching  courtesy. 
My  young  friends — my  dear  brethren — I  had 
meant  to  say  more — I  had  intended  to  briefly 
sketch  the  principles  of  my  public  teaching ;  but 
I  would  far  rather  leave  what  Mr.  Evans  has  said 
of  it,  knowing  it  as  he  does,  to  speak  for  itself. 
Far  rather  than  that  I  should  speak  of  my  own 
principles,  I  would  have  the  decisive  testimony 
of  that  young  man  to  reply  to  all  the  misconcep- 
tions and  perversions  that  have  been  uttered  of 
my  work.  His  words  shall  answer  for  it,  whether 
there  is  Rationalism  or  Socialism  in  my  teaching. 


' 


A   SPEECH 

Delivered  at  the  Town  Hall,  Brighton,  November 
14,  1850,  at  a  Meeting  held  for  the  Purpose  of 
Addressing  the  Queen  in  reference  to  the  At- 
tempt of  the  Pope  of  Rome  to  parcel  England 
out  into  Ecclesiastical  Dioceses  under  Cardinal 
Wiseman. 

When  I  entered  th  s  room,  I  had  not  the 
smallest  intention  of  addressing  the  Meeting; 
but  certain  expressions  which  have  been  used 
since  my  arrival  seem  to  make  it  necessary. 
However  that  may  be,  if  this  were  simply  a 
question  between  the  Church  of  England  and 
the  Church  of  Rome — if  it  were  merely  a  ques- 
tion of  precedence  between  the  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury  and  Cardinal  Wiseman,  I  should 
hold  it  purely  superfluous  to  attend  this  meet- 
ing. As  a  member  of  the  Church  of  England, 
certainly  consistently,  as  every  dissenter  will  ac- 
knowledge, I  hold  that  the  Bishop  of  Rome  has 


LECTURES,  &c.  BY  REV.  F.  W.  ROBERTSON.   313 

been  guilty  of  an  act  of  schism.  It  was  a  prin- 
ciple of  the  early  Church,  that  every  church, 
every  kingdom,  is  supreme  in  spiritual  matters 
within  itself,  and  that  every  bishop  is  vested  with 
authority  in  his  own  diocese.  So  far  as  this 
goes  we,  the  members,  and  especially  the  clergy, 
of  the  Church  of  England,  have  reason  to  con- 
sider ourselves  aggrieved ;  but  all  that  would  be 
necessary  for  us  to  do  in  such  a  case  is  to  do 
what  we  have  done, — address  our  Bishop.  We 
should  be  by  no  means  justified  in  calling  so 
large  a  meeting,  of  our  fellow  countrymen  and 
fellow  townsmen,  a  large  mass  of  whom  are  not 
members  of  the  Church  of  England,  to  address 
the   Sovereign. 

If  this  were  merely  a  matter  between  Protes- 
tant and  Roman  Catholic  in  point  of  doctrine,  I 
should  feel  that  nothing  more  than  a  protest  was 
necessary.  I  confess  that  it  seems  to  me  that  to 
say  "  We  are  right  and  the  Roman  Catholics  are 
wrong,  and  therefore  the  Roman  Catholics  may 
not  proselytize  because  they  are  wrong,  and  we 
may  because  we  are  right ;  "  is  a  petitio  jmncipit, 
a  begging  of  the  question,  an  assumption  of  the 
very  thing  in  dispute.  I  acknowledge  that  I  have 
but  very  small  sympathy  with  those  intolerant 
controversialists  who  imitate  the  Church  of  Rome 
in  thundering  out  anathemas  against  their  brother 

31 


314         LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

Christians.  I  have  small  sympathy  with  those 
persons  who  are  trying  to  arouse  popular  indig- 
nation against  Romanism,  by  endeavouring  to 
prove  that  the  Pope  of  Rome  is  "  The  Man  of 
Sin,"  and  the  Church  of  Rome  a  "  Synagogue 
of  Satan."  Let  there  be  proselytism  by  fair 
argument ;  let  there  be  a  fair  field  and  no  favour. 
Let  them  do  what  they  can ;  and,  in  the  name  of 
God,  we  will  do  what  we  can.  We  do  not  fear 
Rome.  Let  them  have  fair  play ;  we  ask  no 
more.  For  such  questions  as  these,  we  do  not 
require  such   meetings. 

The  ground  on  which  I  stand  here,  the  reason 
on  which  I  protest  against  this  Papal  Act,  is  the 
assumption  of  Infallibility  which  it  contains.  It 
is  a  claim  by  an  individual  man,  or  by  a  body  of 
men,  of  a  right  to  press  on  the  consciences  of 
mankind,  authoritatively,  opinions  of  their  own. 
Whether  that  view  be  thundered  from  the  Vati- 
can, or  be  thundered  from  Exeter  Hall,  or  come 
from  the  assumed  infallibility  of  a  private  pulpit, 
be  it  Dissenting  or  Church  of  England,  I  believe 
it  to  be  our  bounden  duty,  as  Protestants,  to  pro- 
test against  it. 

I  stand  forward  on  behalf  of  the  right  of  pri- 
vate judgment.  I  would  almost  rather  retract 
that  expression ;  for  the  words  "  private  judg- 
ment" have  a  proud  sound.     It  seems  to  assume 


BY  REV.  F.   W.  ROBERTSON.  315 

that  private  judgment  must  be  right ;  that  every 
man  may  judge  what  he  will,  and  that,  forsooth, 
having  judged  it,  he,  in  the  omnipotence  of  his 
individual  judgment,  must  be  right.  I  do  not  so 
understand  it.  A  man  has  not  a  right  to  judge 
what  he  will ;  he  may  judge  what  is  right ;  the 
right  of  private  judgment  is  the  right  of  judging 
the  right.  I  retract  the  expression  I  used  just 
now,  and  stand  up  on  behalf  of  the  Eights  of 
Conscience, — not  the  right  of  man  to  have  what 
conscience  he  will,  but  the  right  of  conscience  to 
control  the  man  and  demand  allegiance  to  its 
decrees.  I  protest  against  the  Popish  claim  for 
this  reason, — that  it  is  an  assumption  of  man  to 
dictate,  in  the  forum  of  conscience,  to  his  brother 
man. 

There  is  something  besides  which  I  would 
rather  not  have  said  ;  and  for  that  reason  I  en- 
tered this  room  intending  not  to  say  one  word. 
There  is  an  expression  in  that  Address  to  which 
in  committee  I  raised  an  objection.  It  is  that 
where  we  call  for  the  remedy  which  justice  de- 
mands for  the  act  that  has  been  done.  I  know 
my  brother  ministers  meant  that  they  demand  no 
pains  and  penalties,  but  merely  require  and  wish 
that  the  titles  should  be  ignored ;  and  yet  the  ex- 
pression is  one  from  which,  in  all  freedom,  I  felt 
myself  shrink.     I  do  not  like  to  ask  the  inter- 


316        LECTURES  AND  ADDRESSES 

ference  of  the  Law ;  I  do  not  like  to  ask  or  pro- 
tection in  such  a  matter ;  I  do  not  like  to  seem 
to  stand  forward  and  demand  that  the  titles  of 
the  Church  of  England  should  be  preserved  by 
forms  of  law — those  of  the  Church  of  Rome 
ignored.  There  is  something  in  this  which  ap- 
pears to  speak  of  fear  and  apprehension.  In  my 
heart  of  hearts,  I  have  no  apprehension  of  the 
progress  of  the  Church  of  Rome.  Let  men  say 
what  they  will ;  let  them  number  up  the  chapels 
that  have  increased — I  grant  that  there  has  been 
an  increase ;  but  what  if  it  be  that  a  few  hundred 
ladies  have  been  embroidering  altar-cloths,  and  a 
few  hundred  of  the  aristocracy,  unable  to  keep 
their  own  consciences,  and  not  daring  to  go  into 
the  awful  question,  "  What  is  truth  ? "  have 
chosen,  like  children  afraid  of  the  dark,  to  go 
back  to  their  mother's  aprons,  and  throw  them- 
selves on  Papal  infallibility  ?  What  if  a  few, 
soft,  sentimental  clergymen  have  gone  to  Rome  ? 
What  then,  has  that  touched  the  great,  clear, 
sturdy  English  heart  ?  When  once  this  question 
of  Romanism,  or  Tractarianism,  or  semi-Roman- 
ism has  been  placed  before  the  mass  of  the  coun- 
try, there  has  never  been  a  moment  of  hesitation  ; 
it  has  been  met  by  stern  rejection.  And,  there- 
fore, Mr.  Chairman,  acknowledging  the  rightful 
meaning  of  the  words,  and  perfectly  prepared  to 


BY   REV.   F.   W.   ROBERTSON.  317 

sign  that  memorial,  I  should  rather  have  rejoiced 
if  we  had  been  contented  with  a  simple  protest. 

A  few  words  on  the  matter  with  which  the  last 
speaker  concluded  and  I  have  done.  It  seems  to 
me  that  he  is  under  some  misapprehension  with 
respect  to  that  expression — "  spiritual  supremacy." 
He  objects  to  it,  if  1  understand  him,  on  the  sup- 
position that  it  gives  to  the  Sovereign  spiritual 
jurisdiction, — the  right  of  doing  spiritual  acts. 
The  Sovereign  of  England  does  no  spiritual  act 
whatsoever.  She  does  not  ordain  ministers  ;  she 
does  nothing  with  regard  to  the  administration 
of  the  sacraments ;  she  does  not  create  one  single 
doctrine.  There  seems  to  be  a  certain  misappre- 
hension in  respect  of  the  very  meaning  of  the 
ground  on  which  this  was  originally  proposed. 
The  speaker  dwelt  much  on  the  authority  and 
rights  of  the  people, — the  supremacy  of  the  people. 
He  spoke  of  the  people  as  the  fountain  source  of 
all  power,  spiritually  probably,  as  well  as  tempo- 
rally. Is  that  gentleman  aware  that  the  great 
defender  of  this  doctrine  of  royal  supremacy  in 
matters  ecclesiastical — for  that  is  the  real  mean- 
ing, here,  of  spiritual — did  uphold  that  the  people 
are  the  rightful  sources  of  all  spiritual  authority  ? 
God  has  delegated  to  his  church,  to  the  mass  of 
believers,  a  right  to  govern  themselves  according 
to  Scripture  and  Truth,  but  as  a  matter  of  order, 

31* 


318   LECTUEES,  &c.  BY  REV.  F.  W.  ROBERTSON. 

not  in  heaven,  but  here  on  earth,  it  became  neces- 
sary for  the  country,  that  is,  the  Christian  com- 
munity at  large, — for  in  those  days  the  church 
was  the  country  and  the  country  the  church, — 
that  the  country  should  delegate  to  one  individual 
all  its  sovereignty ;  and  the  Sovereign  now  speaks 
spiritually,  speaks  ecclesiastically,  only  as  the  dele- 
gate and  voice  of  the  sovereign  community  of  the 
Church  of  Christ. 


Date  Due 

h  27  '39 

■tu»  s  fTT 

^^fc^M*^' 

^ 

